


Unexpected Sentiment

by ResiGamerGirl



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 12:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 57,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3936472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResiGamerGirl/pseuds/ResiGamerGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RE5-After the part where Chris Redfield and Sheva Alomar cross paths with Wesker, Excella, and Jill; Chris is separated from Sheva and Jill while searching for his nemesis in the African Village. Krauser/Chris Wesker/Chris Contains: non-con, OOC, AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wayward Mission

**Author's Note:**

> AU during Resident Evil 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Years ago this started out as a one shot, and then a two shot. Due to popularity it has expanded into a multi-chapter fic. as I continued to write over the years. Hope you enjoy reading it!

In the village of Kijuju, Chris Redfield had gotten separated from his partner. He and Sheva Alomar had been attacked by a mob of Majini who were infected with a variation of the Las Plagas virus. The Majini had basic human intelligence but lacked rationalization and follow the orders of the Majini infected with the control Plagas form. Chris was surrounded by Majini and there was no sign of his partner. The sheer number and degree of excitement of the infected around him told Chris he was in trouble. There were simply too many of them and things only got worse for him when he heard heavy lumbering footsteps. He lifted his eyes to stare up into the masked face of the executioner Majini.

The big man lifted his enormous axe and swung its sharp side down towards where Chris stood. Chris rolled under the man to avoid the heavy blade and raised his gun to fire at two Majini who were running at him with weapons raised above their heads. Their eyes were distant but hostile at the same time and murder was certainly their mission. Chris brought the two men down but was blindsided by a Majini who came at him from the right. The wrench in the man's hand smashed against Chris's head and he stumbled off balance. A Majini from the rear grabbed him by the forearms and yanked them behind his head. The native slammed him facedown to the dirt ground and straddled over his back. Chris grunted in discomfort as the infected man held his arms so that they were practically pressed against the back of his head, definitely in a position they were not meant to ever be in.

When Chris realized he couldn't break away, panic overtook him. He thrashed in the Majini's strong grasp but the other Majini were now standing around watching him. Before he could even begin to break free of his captor's hold, another Majini stepped forward and restrained Chris's legs. He expressed his rage at being held down with a low growl and increased struggling.

“What have we got here?” a man spoke with a cocky air to it. “An American agent all the way out here? Tsk Tsk. And getting yourself trapped like this, not a good thing.”

“If it's not a good thing then why don't you just let me go?” Chris snarled, unable to see who was speaking to him from his current position.

“You misunderstand,” the man's gruff voice said to him. “It's not a good thing for you.”

A pair of boots appeared in Chris's eye line as the man crouched down so his face was closer to Chris. The man wore brown, green, and gray camouflage pants and a tight black shirt. He wore a belt equipped with multiple weapons, fingerless gloves, and had short blonde hair and blue eyes. Most noticeably about this man besides the enormous muscles, was his badly scarred face. Currently, the man wore a smirk on that face.

“What's your name, soldier?” the man asked him.

Chris only glared in reply which caused him to sigh with impatience.

“My name is Jack Krauser. Now yours...?”

Jack Krauser... Why did that name sound so familiar to him? Chris wondered to himself, frowning slightly. When Krauser could see his captive was not going to reply, he grabbed a fistful of Chris's hair and yanked his head up so that they made eye contact.

“I'm gonna lay out the situation for you. If you answer all of my questions truthfully, I will let you go. If you don't, then I will kill you.”

“You'll kill me no matter what I do.” Chris said to the man, narrowing his eyes.

“Don't tell me what I'll do, pretty boy. If you answer my questions, you will prolong your life. That's a certainty and I give you my word.” Krauser told him.

“Prolong my life?” Chris asked him, suspiciously. He didn't like the words the bigger man had chosen to say.

Krauser smirked knowingly. “Well it's not like you can escape your inevitable death, is it? None of us can.”

Chris stared silently at him for a moment before he finally voiced his obvious answer. “No.”

Krauser tilted his head as if trying to figure him out. “No?”

“No I will not tell you who I am or answer any questions, so you might as well kill me now.”

Chris didn't want to die. But he also wasn't going to betray Sheva..or Jill. Relaxed in the fact that he would at least die protecting them, Chris accepted his death and waited for it. But it didn't come. Chancing a glance at Krauser's face, he saw the man seemed pleased with Chris's answer.

“I suppose it wouldn't be much fun if you gave it up so easily.”

“What? I'm not giving you any information ever,” he informed the man.

“We'll see about that.” Chris heard Krauser say.

And then a heavy boot was coming toward his face and darkness swept all other thoughts away.

/

When Chris woke up, he was in a dimly lit room that appeared to be a storage place of some sort. His hands were bound with rope in front of him and his weapons were gone. He pulled himself to his feet and surveyed his new accommodations. Stone floors and walls and a few musty crates stacked here and there. The door itself was steel and a swift kick to it told him it was fairly sturdy.

“Feeling afraid?”

Chris jumped in surprise. Following the source of the voice he found that Krauser was standing in a darkened corner of the room, farthest from the door. He had been so quiet and still that Chris hadn't even noticed his presence. With a smooth laugh, the noticeably buff man drew away from the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

“I'll take that as a yes.” Krauser said.

Chris narrowed his eyes at the other man. “What do you want from me?”

“I would have started with something easy such as your name. But clearly you have no interest in telling me so we can start with something different. Such as what you're doing out here in this part of Africa.”

“Is there a question in that?” Chris asked brazenly.

Krauser stared at him with complete seriousness now. “What are you doing in Africa? Who sent you and what is your mission? These are the things I want to know.”

“Oh is that all?” Chris retorted. “No thanks. I have to keep some secrets or the ladies might get bored.”

Krauser came closer to Chris and he backed away until his back hit the wall. Something shiny flashed in the dim light and he saw the taller man now held a knife in his hand.

“Hm..humor as a defense mechanism.”

“It's not-” he began to protest, but a knife pressed against the skin of his throat caused him to fall silent.

Chris swallowed nervously. How did he always get himself in these situations?

/

_Approximately two weeks later..._

Albert Wesker prided himself on always being in control. He was the manipulator and the schemer. He was the one in command and got whatever he desired. Sometimes he didn't get what he wanted right away but in the end, he always did get it. So it was only natural for him to be extremely irritated when he learned his plans to spread Uroboros had failed. And it had been Jill Valentine who was the one to undo all his hard work. It had to have been her because she was the only one who could have the information Chris Redfield and his new partner used to destroy his precious virus. Wesker remembered arriving at his airplane only to find Uroboros destroyed and he clenched his fists in frustration. This was the first time he ever felt truly outdone by Chris. His subordinate had finally succeeded in completely ruining his plans and it angered him to no end.

Wesker knew it was time to pack it in when the BSAA squads began showing up. It had taken them a few weeks, probably waiting for their agents to finish their reports before coming. They were clearly there with one mission: To erase any trace of viruses from the village and nearby areas. It was when one of the infected villagers came to inform him of the BSAA teams arrival that he first learned of their captive.

“Six teams have arrived so far,” the African American villager infected with the control Plagas informed him.

He stood before his master completely emotionless and staring blankly ahead.

“Very well.” Wesker said. “You're dismissed.”

“Should the prisoner be eliminated?” the Majini asked.

Wesker turned to look at the infected man, sharply. “What?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“The American agent,” the Majini answered, seemingly still unaware that he was uninformed.

“Where?”

/

Wesker arrived at the storage room within minutes of his conversation with the Majini. He frowned and knew immediately who had kept him uninformed. The man he had working for him was leaning against the wall near the room silently.

“Krauser. You failed to inform me of a captured American agent.”

The man lifted his head and their eyes met. Krauser was one of the few men who never regarded Wesker with fear even though he was well aware of his capabilities. Perhaps it was because the former soldier himself was infected, or maybe it was because the man's enlarged ego had something to do with it. Wesker couldn't be sure. However, he wasn't too bothered by his lack of fear since the soldier had proven to be loyal and obviously respected him and his plans.

“You were busy with your own plans. I didn't want some American runt to...distract you.”

Wesker raised an eyebrow at the other man. “And after the plan failed...?”

Krauser paused, and before he could answer, Wesker did for him.

“You were having fun with the American, weren't you? Thought I might hand down a kill order so you decided not to mention the agent for awhile, hm?”

Silence confirmed his suspicions.

“What information did you get from the agent? Did you get an identity?” Wesker asked him.

“Nah, he wouldn't even give up his name.”

Wesker glowered at his subordinate. The man couldn't even get information out of a prisoner? He was either far more lacking in skill than Wesker had first thought, or the agent was a very tough son of a bitch. Annoyed with Krauser in every possible respect, he waved the soldier away.

“Get out of my sight, Krauser.”

With a grunt of discontentment, the man pushed himself off of the wall and strolled past.

“Oh and Krauser,” Wesker started.

The ex-American agent glanced back at Wesker, waiting for him to continue.

“If you ever keep me in the dark about anything like this again...” he trailed off, leaving the threat open so Krauser could interpret it any way he chose to.

“It won't happen again.” Krauser told Wesker and walked away.

Once the footsteps faded into the distance, Wesker turned to face the storage room door. With a solid kick, the door flew off its hinges and hit the opposite wall. He entered the room a bit eager to find the one who had managed to survive Krauser's torture without giving up any information. In the corner farthest from the door laid a man with his back to him. The man was completely naked with his hands bound in front of him and his entire body was marred with dozens of cuts and bruises, definitely Krauser's work.

Upon hearing Wesker's footsteps, the man slowly dragged himself into the corner. He pressed himself against the wall, his face still hidden in the shadows. He seemed to be attempting to stay as far from the owner of the footsteps as possible. Wesker stopped beside the cowering form and reached a hand down to turn the face toward him. He paused when the man flinched away from his touch.

“Please...don't. Don't hurt me anymore...” the man whimpered.

So it seemed Krauser had succeeded in breaking the man after all. A shame the soldier never got to see his work pay off. But wait...that voice. The prisoner's voice sounded far too familiar. Wesker gripped the man gently by the chin and turned his face into the light. Wesker was shocked when he saw the identity of the prisoner.

“Chris?”

Chris's face was as bruised and bloody as the rest of his body. Both of his eyes were black and blue and one of the eyes was swollen shut. His lip was cut and bleeding in several places and his one usable eye was bloodshot. For some reason, seeing Chris like this didn't make him feel good. Wesker had always thought he wanted to see his nemesis bloodied and broken on the floor like this. But now that he was, it felt quite different.

“No...” Chris moaned in terror when he saw Wesker.

The beaten man lifted his bound hands and pushed Wesker's hand away from him, trying to crawl to the other corner of the room. Chris moved slowly and it was clear he was very weak and exhausted. That was when he noticed something else. The BSAA agent had blood trailing down the inside of his thighs. Instant rage tore through him at the thought of Krauser touching Chris in such a way. He bent down and grabbed hold of Chris's shoulders, placing him onto his feet. At the touch, he whimpered again and tried to get away. The younger man kept his head down and refused to meet Wesker's eyes.

“Chris, I'm not trying to hurt you!” he exclaimed with frustration. “I'm trying to help you.”

Chris went still at those words, his head remained lowered, eyes rooted to the ground. Slowly, the man lifted his head and with his one good eye he stared at Wesker.

“Why?”

Wesker paused at the question. Why? Why what? Why was he helping him? He didn't know the answer to that question himself. He just knew he didn't want to see him like this. Wesker admired the strong, defiant Redfield who never abandoned his beliefs or gave up hope. Chris was definitely someone who didn't deserve to have such horrible things done to him but they had been done to him anyway. Clearly no one was looking out for him, so Wesker would just have to be the one to do it. He had no idea where this was all coming from but he felt it best to follow these instincts of his.

“Because this wasn't supposed to happen.” Wesker finally said.

Chris started to say something but then he started frowning. His eye rolled back in his head and he fainted. Before he could hit the floor, Wesker swiftly caught him. He untied his wrist bindings and then removed his own jacket to wrap around the naked form. Lifting the limp form in his arms, he carried him out of the storage room to take him somewhere to rest.


	2. Compulsory Healing

When Chris woke, he was confused to find himself lying on a soft mattress instead of hard concrete floor. But it didn't take long for him to remember what had happened. Wesker had shown up and claimed he was there to help him. Chris must have passed out soon after that because he couldn't remember much else. He took in the fact that he was still naked but someone had washed him. His body was no longer covered in blood and dirt. His eye also felt considerably less swollen. Blinking a few times, he discovered both of his eyes were at least able to open and close. He wondered how long he had been asleep. Drifting off again, he welcomed the much needed rest. It was easier for him to close his eyes when he knew there wasn't going to be the possibility of Krauser being there when he woke up.

/

_“Shh, shh. Don't cry. I'll be more gentle this time,” came the hot whisper against his cheek._

_“No...please. Not again, please...” Chris begged helplessly, knowing the man was lying. He was always rough._

_But it was no use. Krauser's weight pinned him to the floor and with his hands bound, he had no way to defend himself or prevent what was to come. Then Krauser was forcing himself inside of his already bruised and torn entrance. Chris had long ago lost count of how many times the bigger man had raped him, but each time it left him feeling emptier and emptier inside. Why wouldn't the man just put him out of his misery? Why couldn't Krauser just let him die?_

_Chris knew the answer but he didn't want to. He could tell when a man enjoyed inflicting pain and when a man just did it out of necessity. Krauser was without a doubt the former kind of person. Krauser roughly thrust again and again and Chris bit his lip to keep from screaming. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks and finally he couldn't keep it in any longer, the burning pain was just too much for him. He let out a scream of pain and anguish which produced a chuckle from his tormentor._

_“That's what I like to hear. That's it, pretty boy. Come on, give me another scream.”_

/

He jolted upright from his restless sleep with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes were wide and frightened as he searched for his attacker, only to realize it had been a dream and he was all alone. No, that wasn't quite right. Wesker was standing in the doorway of the room watching him. He must have just walked in because the door slid shut behind him electronically as he came farther into the room.

“A nightmare?” Wesker asked him in his usual cold voice.

Chris chose not to answer him. Instead he focused on calming his racing heartbeat and relaxing his breath. He closed his eyes but tiredly opened them when Wesker spoke again. “Chris?”

“A memory,” he finally answered the other man, who now stood beside the bed which he was sitting upright in.

He was still unable to bring his eyes to meet the older man's, even when Wesker removed his sunglasses and knelt beside the bed.

“The things that were done to you...” Wesker started.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Chris snapped harshly.

Talking about the hell he had been put through the last two weeks was the last thing he wanted to do. Being in the same room as Wesker was the last thing he wanted. But Wesker was here and no one else was. His former captain had been the one to save him when Chris had nearly given up all hope. This fact was messing him up inside. His emotions were in constant turmoil now and he didn't like it. And because his emotions were in constant flux, most of the time he felt nothing. Chris just wanted to know how to feel so he could just feel something solid but that didn't seem to be happening for him.

“I never would have allowed...such treatment if I had known you were captured.” Wesker informed him rather matter-of-fact sounding.

“Don't pretend you care. You hate me, Wesker. I hate you. It's as simple as that. So don't pretend you're sorry for what happened to me. Why are you even bothering to care? Kill me and put me out of my misery. I know you want me dead so go on and finish me.” Chris bluntly said to the black-clad man, still averting his gaze.

“I wouldn't have saved you if I wanted you dead.”

Chris didn't know why he did it, but he just wanted to feel something. He didn't want this emptiness and if somehow maybe Wesker could make him feel some sort of emotion then he could feel better, start getting past what had been done to him. Completely out of his norm, Chris leaned forward and planted a light kiss on the tyrant's lips. Wesker's eyes widened in surprise and he pulled back, effectively breaking the kiss.

“Please...I need to feel something,” he pleaded vulnerably.

Wesker transformed his look back to the usual unreadable expression. “You're just confused, Chris. What happened to you was traumatic and-”

“Ugh. This isn't about then! This is the here and now! I don't need you to tell me what I am, I need you to make me whole again.” Chris yelled in frustration but then his voice got quieter. “Forget it, okay? Just go away.”

Tears began to leak from irritated eyes as he screamed at Wesker for no real reason. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Wesker so he wouldn't have to look at the man. Chris was angry because of what had been done to him. What he had let happen to himself and he didn't want to face it. He was so messed up that he couldn't think about anything. There was only one thing that he was sure about right now. Chris wanted Wesker to help him think straight and if he couldn't do that then he wanted to stop thinking completely.

After a few moments of silence, Chris heard the bed creak as weight was added to it and felt Wesker lie down beside him. The older man wrapped his arms around Chris and placed his head against the BSAA agent's smooth back. Chris relaxed into Wesker's embrace and tried to fall back asleep but he just couldn't. Chris reversed his direction so he faced Wesker and tried to kiss him again. This time Wesker let him and started kissing him back. He melted into the other man and they wrapped around each other as they meshed lips. Desperate for more contact, Chris moaned needily and tugged at Wesker's shirt, trying to remove it. Breathing heavily, the other broke the kiss and stared at him.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Wesker asked.

Nope. It wasn't. Not at all. Except it was at the same time. He would sooner shoot Wesker than do what he was seeking to let this man do now. How had he become reduced to this confused and needy mess?

“Don't stop.” Chris breathed and initiated another kiss.

As they continued to make out, Wesker worked on removing his own clothing. Once all of his clothes were off, Chris pressed his naked body against Wesker's nude form, consumed by lust. The blonde haired man was shocked by his forwardness as he hungrily nibbled and kissed Wesker's neck and chest, but was by no means put off by it. The constant touching and feeling as they tasted each other's bodies, continued for several minutes. As Chris continued to push his groin into Wesker's own, the tyrant grew even further aroused and moved to take this to the next level. Quickly dominating the kiss, Wesker rolled on top of him and let his hands trail down to Chris's hips. The younger man spread his thighs eagerly, wrapping his legs around Wesker's waist and staring up at him pleadingly. Wesker positioned himself in front of Chris's entrance and placed the tip of his erection against the tight hole.

He couldn't make a choice with Krauser, but he could now. This was him taking back his will power and strength.

“Fuck me.” Chris told him.

Only too glad to comply, Wesker shoved inside of the BSAA agent and received a grunt of pain. He continued to push his manhood deep until he was buried to the hilt inside of him. Chris's face was contorted in pain, unable to handle the man's impressive girth and the tyrant hesitated.

“We don't have to do this.” Wesker said, meeting Chris's eyes.

Oh, if his superiors in the organization could see him now...

“I want to.” the man beneath him insisted.

As if to prove his point, he ran his hands through Wesker's hair and delved his tongue into the blonde's mouth. The older man accepted his answer and gave him a few moments to adjust to his size before he began to thrust repeatedly into the thick heat. Chris's pained expression became mixed as his eyes filled with bliss and he moaned the other man's name again and again. Wesker pushed him down against the sheets as they roughly kissed and one hand groped his chest while the other lingered lower. He gripped Chris's manhood, forming a sort of funnel with his fist and moved his hand up and down along the length. The tyrant moved into a rhythm, sliding his hand up and down the shaft as he thrust in and out of Chris.

After this went on for awhile, Chris couldn't hold out any more and he came with a scream of pure ecstasy, his semen spilling onto them both. A few more thrusts into the ecstatic heat and Wesker followed soon after, his seed filling Chris's hole. He collapsed on top, head against his chest, resting. After a moment, he pulled out of the younger man and rolled on his back to lay beside Chris. Soaked with sweat and semen, he shifted his body to snuggle against Wesker, the source of heat. He buried his face into the man's neck, his eyes growing heavy with tiredness and it wasn't long before he allowed himself to drift into sleep.

/

_“Why are you doing this?” Chris whimpered as he laid helplessly beneath the larger man._

_“You'll have to be more specific, pretty boy.” Krauser muttered, digging his nails into the flesh of his back._

_“I know who you are.”_

_“Is that so?” Krauser asked, thrusting particularly hard._

_Chris gasped out in pain and clenched his jaw. He struggled to hold in the scream he so badly wanted to release, knowing it would only spur the other man on. Desperate to find some way to endure the burning pain, Chris tried to keep his tormentor talking._

_“You're working for a man named Albert Wesker, aren't you?”_

_“I thought this was my interrogation. I want to talk about you, not me.”_

_On the word, 'me', Krauser pulled out except for the head of his member and thrust it back in. The motion felt to Chris like he had been impaled with a knife and a shout of agony escaped him, bringing a smile to the muscular man's lips._

_“Much better.” Krauser murmured and forced his mouth against his._

_Chris tried to turn his head away but a strong hand gripped his chin and a tongue moved between his lips. The agent struggled to break away which only caused Krauser to kiss him more violently. Only after the necessity to breathe reached the blonde soldier did he release his mouth. He greedily gulped in air and another push of Krauser's dick inside of him finally caused the soldier to reach climax, filling his seed into his captive. Chris grimaced in disgust as the wet fluid filled him. He tried to take his mind off of it._

_“I was told you were a good man, a good soldier, once. So why do you work for someone like Wesker? He only seeks to accomplish his own selfish goals.” Chris said._

_Krauser remained in him, most likely because he knew how much it sickened the other man and considered his words. Chris's heartbeat quickened when the other man reached for his knife and started playing with it, running it lightly along his captive's skin._

_“We happen to share common interests, he and I.”_

_“And those would be?” Chris questioned skeptically._

_He found it hard to believe Wesker could actually have someone that wanted the same insane things as he did. Chris had always assumed the inhuman tyrant was his own unique brand of evil. Apparently there were others just like him that actually agreed with his ideals and beliefs, Chris soon learned._

_“To bring order and balance to this insane world of ours.”_

_The BSAA agent stared incredulously at the other man. “And you're going to unleash Uroboros into the world to do that?”_

_“Not exactly. Those plans have failed.” Krauser grinned as he traced the knife along Chris' s throat. “But I suspected that would be the case from the very beginning. Don't worry though. I think Wesker is on to something special. Something that could bring order and balance. Now enough about that. Tell me, does this hurt?”_

_Krauser sank the blade of the knife deep into the skin of Chris' s shoulder and he cried out in pain. The soldier chuckled to himself._

_“Haha...you're just too much fun.”_


	3. Returning Animosity

Excella Gionne was doing little to hide her impatience at waiting for Albert Wesker's return, and the vulgar American soldier wasn't helping matters. He was leaning against a nearby wall in the hangar, interminably tossing his combat knife and catching it as always. The repetitive action was proving to wear on her nerves. She gave Krauser a sharp glance, narrowing her eyes in warning for him to cut it out. The man noticed her look and grinned before continuing his habitual motion.

The noble female sniffed indignantly and sat down on the lone metal chair available. She crossed her legs elegantly and scrutinized the American. She didn't understand why Albert would work with such an inferior ally such as Jack Krauser. The man was nothing more than a hired gun who lived to fight and had nothing more to offer. Excella herself was invaluable to Albert as she had access to Tricell resources and far greater intelligence to contribute to their cause. As if reading her thoughts, Krauser looked appraisingly at her in return.

“I have more value than one might think, rich girl.”

Excella's face scrunched up with distaste for the label he'd created for her. She met his eyes, growing increasingly annoyed as Krauser added, “At least I'm not merely a pretty face along for the ride.”

She blinked. _Merely a pretty face..._ Her cheeks flushed with heat and she huffed angrily. “I am far more essential to Albert than you will ever be!”

“Sure honey, keep telling yourself that.” Krauser retorted with a shrug.

Normally Excella would never let such trivial words bother her. But with her anxiety rising at Albert's prolonged absence, it was getting to the noble woman. She preferred to be aware of his whereabouts and business at all times. Well actually, Excella would much rather be by Albert's side all of the time but the man seemed to like his privacy much more than he liked spending time with her. She tried to ignore that he clearly had no romantic interest in her as she did with him, but the more bluntly he continued to use her, the harder it became to pretend. Angered as she thought of how Albert treated her, and having only Krauser to act out her frustrations on, she glared at him. Before Excella had a chance to express her disapproval for his assumptions, a smooth and confident female voice spoke out.

“Gee Krauser, you really know how to sweep the ladies off their feet.”

A woman wearing a deep red dress that ended just past her hips came walking into the hangar. She wore dark stockings over long legs, fingerless black gloves, and matching red heels. Over her dress she wore a black melee vest and a weapon belt equipped with a handgun, extra ammo, and a knife. The Chinese-American had short stylish black hair and carefully applied make up. A beautiful assassin and one who seemed to pride herself on remaining mysterious to those she met or worked with.

Krauser tilted his head in the direction of the woman's entrance into the building. “Hmph, if it isn't the bitch in the red dress.”

Ada Wong smiled falsely at the broad shouldered man. “What's the matter, Krauser? Still feeling sore about our last encounter?”

Krauser sneered. “I knew you were up to no good and I was right. You double-crossed Wesker as expected. I don't understand why he's allowing you to work for him again.”

Ada crossed her arms against her chest, continuing to smile calmly at Krauser. “As I told you before, I knew Wesker long before you did.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “That's not an answer.”

“You should know better, Krauser. It's the best you're going to get from me. A girl's gotta have her secrets.” Ada replied cunningly.

The soldier scoffed. “Secrets are all you seem to have.”

“Seems that way,” she said slyly.

Excella watched this interaction and released a furtive sigh of irritation. She didn't want to sit here and listen to these two converse hostilely. Once again she found herself glancing towards the entrance to the hangar where Ada entered, checking to see if Albert had arrived yet for what must have been the hundredth time. Sure enough, his black-clad form came striding purposefully through the doorway and she sprang up from her seat. Excella bent to retrieve the metal suitcase placed beside the chair and set it onto the seat before opening the case. She removed a syringe containing his serum, knowing the shot was what Albert had come for.

Ada and Krauser grew quiet and turned their attention onto their boss as he came over to Excella. Albert extended his forearm out, awaiting his injection. He wasn't wearing his long jacket so his sleeves were already rolled up to the elbows. Excella removed the cap and tapped the top of the needle, proceeding to inject the serum into a vein in his arm. She placed the empty syringe back into the case delicately and shifted her gaze to the meticulous appearance of the male she coveted.

“What kept you?” she asked.

Albert lowered his arm to his side before taking in her unhappy stare and pouty posture. “I had other matters to attend to. How are preparations on this end?”

“The BSAA destroyed what was left of Uroboros with the aid of Jill Valentine. It seems your experiment wasn't quite as successful as you hoped.” Excella informed him.

“There is nothing wrong with the chemical itself. We only need a better way to administer P30 to the subject.” Albert told her.

“So you wish to continue experimenting with the chemical..very well. The plane is prepared to leave whenever you are ready. The BSAA teams will find this hangar eventually so I suggest we depart in a timely manner,” she continued, finishing her update.

Albert nodded. “Good.” He turned his gaze towards Ada, shifting the dark shades he wore as he did. “Did you complete your objectives?”

Ada uncrossed her arms and smiled easily. “Of course. Samples of both P30 and Las Plagas so you may continue your work without delay.”

The woman in red reached for a small case attached to the back of her belt and walked over to hand it to Albert. Excella frowned, she hadn't been aware he sent the female agent on any missions. She was typically kept informed so this discovery didn't sit well with her. She watched him accept the case through narrowed eyes but brightened considerably when he passed them to her.

“Keep these safe.” Albert ordered and Excella eagerly accepted them into her care.

“I have someone to retrieve and then we will leave for our backup facility.” Albert established. “He is not to be harmed in any way unless I command it, is that understood?”

Excella noted he was staring pointedly at Krauser as he asked for their confirmation of his orders and she wondered who this someone was. More and more she found herself being left out of the loop and this struck her as very bad news for herself. _No, he needs me. Or at least Tricell. My position at his side is secure._ She convinced herself, feeling a little better.

Peering back and forth between Albert and Krauser as they locked eyes, she could tell the latter didn't understand. Apparently Albert was determined to make him understand. He moved with astonishing speed and was in front of Krauser almost as if he teleported there. He grabbed the muscular man up by the neck as if he were as light as a twig and shoved him against the wall. Surprise illuminated Krauser's features, and discomfort as his oxygen supply was cut off.

“What you did to him goes beyond acceptable, Krauser. When you are working for me I do not tolerate such insubordination. Now I said he is not to be harmed in any way, do you understand?” Albert asked him, red eyes glowing from behind his sunglasses.

Anger flashed probably when he realized who was being referred to, but Excella was left completely in the dark. Krauser could not speak because of the amount of pressure being applied to his throat and after a moment Albert eased up and he choked out his understanding. Satisfied, he released him and Krauser dropped to the floor. Quickly leaping back onto his feet, he rubbed his sore neck and glared at the other.

“You know him or something?” Krauser asked when he had collected enough air into his lungs to speak.

Excella thought Albert might strike out at the man again but instead he seemed to be quite calm. He glanced toward Krauser. “That's right. You happened to interfere with my very nemesis. He was to be mine to deal with as I saw fit. I will have to find new plans for him now. Remember your place, Krauser.”

With those words, Albert strode to the doors and left without another glance to any of them. Krauser made a grunt of discontentment but Excella could tell he would listen. No one disobeyed an order from him when he gave it in person, face to face. At least, she had never seen anyone foolish enough to do such a thing. She knew Ada had been at odds with Wesker at one time but the two seemingly worked out some sort of agreement once again. Excella didn't like it but she knew enough to keep from voicing her disagreements out loud if she wanted to remain in Albert's favor. As long as he remained with the promise of allowing her power, Excella would go along with his plans.

“Maybe you should have used your arm on him.” Ada suggested condescendingly, referring to his arm that was capable of mutating into a claw.

Krauser fixed her with an infuriated glare and she simply gave him that small smile of hers. Excella and her both knew that the big soldier was powerful because of the virus inside him, but certainly no match for Albert. She figured they wouldn't have to worry about him revolting for leadership. Krauser may have been a brute dog, but he was an obedient and loyal dog.

/

When his eyes opened again, it was to find he was alone. On a table beside the bed a tray of food sat out for him. His stomach rumbled noisily at the sight. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until looking at the food brought it to the forefront of his mind. He eagerly ate until every last bit was consumed and drank the bottled water to wash down the food. Chris had barely finished his meal when the sound of the electronic door caught his attention and Wesker came walking in. He strode over to retrieve his coat which was draped over the back of a wooden chair and put it on before regarding the man sitting in the bed. Determined to try and erase what had happened between the two of them in the very bed he sat upright in, Chris spoke first.

“This changes nothing, Wesker.”

A smile played across the man's lips. “I'm glad you see it that way. I feel the same.”

“Good, cause I still hate you and will do whatever it takes to stop you and your plans.”

“Well, I'm sure you will be pleased to hear your new partner worked with Jill and destroyed Uroboros. Not even a trace remains and you can imagine how upset that makes me.” Wesker said to him.

Chris felt relieved. “So Krauser was telling the truth. Your plans for Uroboros failed.”

Wesker cocked an eyebrow with interest. “You know Krauser?”

He nodded. “That's right. I recognized him from the photos provided in the Kennedy report. He used to be a government agent until his presumed death where he apparently went to work for you. Krauser wanted to revive Umbrella in hopes of bringing order to the world. I thought he was dead like everyone else but the guy seems to have the habit of coming back from the dead just like you. He's also as delusional as you.”

Wesker smirked. “Glad you think so highly of me.”

“I hate you.”

“You said that.”

“Can't hurt to remind you.”

Silence permeated the room which also happened to still smell like sweat and sex from their previous encounter the other night. A smell that seemed to tell the opposite of how they felt for each other, and it was beginning to make Chris feel sick. It came as a relief then, when Wesker produced the clothing that Krauser had taken away. The clothes seemed to have been laundered recently and grateful to be wearing clothes again, he dressed quickly without bothering to cover himself from Wesker. Why bother when the other man had already seen it all? Another wave of nausea swept through the BSAA agent at the thought of sleeping with his greatest enemy but he ignored it.

“How long have I been here?” he asked.

“Four days, and you've healed considerably since when I first found you. Your face has completely healed and your cuts as well, though those wounds will undoubtedly leave scars.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” Chris murmured.

It hadn't escaped his attention that his body was now decorated with small and large scars. Some of them would possibly heal fully, but he knew most would be there permanently. A permanent reminder of his time imprisoned by Krauser. Chris could feel Wesker's eyes boring into him and he turned to face the older man.

“Uroboros is the past. We're leaving Africa.” Wesker told him.

“Good for you.”

“You're aware you are part of 'we', right?”

“What? Why would I ever go anywhere with you?” he demanded.

“You lost me one of my test subjects so now you will take Jill's place.”

“Hell no. I'd rather be dead.” Chris heatedly informed him.

“That could be arranged.” Wesker hissed, but almost immediately retained his calm. “I apologize if I made it seem as though you had a choice in the matter. You are going to be my captive. Now there are two options you can choose from. You can accompany me to the hangar willingly and walk on your own, or I will carry you there myself.”

“You wouldn't go through the effort.” Chris scoffed, and seeing the look on Wesker's face that spelled out the opposite, he added, “You wouldn't _dare_.”


	4. Meeting..the Team?

“I can't believe you made me carry you the entire way.” Wesker complained as he dropped Chris none-too-gently.

“Suck it up, Wesker. What else are you gonna use that super strength for?” he retorted from his spot on the ground.

The BSAA member's face was a bright shade of red from the embarrassment of actually being carried by the other man, but he also felt satisfaction in not making it easy on Wesker. If Chris was going to lose his freedom and be forced to become Wesker's newest puppet in his endless games, then he was at least going to give the tyrant hell while he was at it. He climbed to his feet and brushed off dirt from his pants. Glancing around, he observed the two of them were now standing next to an aircraft hangar. Another thought seemed to have occurred to him.

“So..uh, um...”

“Spit it out Redfield, I don't have all day.”

Normally this would have incited anger in him but at the moment he wasn't feeling like getting angry. Not with what he was thinking about. Chris was remembering those weeks of torment he endured at the hands of a certain soldier and he had just put together that his tormentor worked for Wesker which meant...

“Is he going to be in there?” he asked quietly, staring at the ground.

Wesker knew exactly who he meant and his look of annoyance vanished and once again became expressionless.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

Chris swallowed nervously but then he straightened his posture and hardened his expression to its normal tough exterior. “Let's get this over with.”

The older man regarded the BSAA member for a moment before he nodded and led the way into the large hangar where the others were awaiting him.

He followed Wesker into the building and peered around with slight interest as he was seeing the place for the very first time. Feeling several pairs of eyes on him he lowered his gaze to the people inhabiting the area. Surprisingly, Chris recognized all three of them. The one standing impatiently near a metal chair tapping her foot repeatedly was the CEO of Tricell, Excella Gionne. The wealthy woman was still wearing that incredibly over-revealing dress of hers and he couldn't understand how anyone could manage to walk around in something that tight.

“Seriously Excella, how the hell do you move wearing that thing?” Chris blurted out loud without meaning to.

The woman froze in her tapping and placed her hands on her hips, glaring. “How dare you!” she screeched, her voice rising in anger.

Krauser chuckled softly and Excella spun around to face the muscular soldier. “And just what are you laughing at? There is nothing wrong with what I am wearing!” She reversed her position to stare at Chris once again. “Besides, I'm a beautiful Italian and can't help it if men like you choose to stare at me.”

“Hey I'm not about to complain. I get a free peep show every day.” Krauser commented with a laugh.

The infuriated glare Excella cast at the scarred man...well basically if looks could kill, Krauser would be a very dead man.

The third and final individual in the room was also someone Chris recognized. Leon Kennedy had told him about her being there during the events of Raccoon City and she'd been there in Europe when Leon was sent in to find the President's missing daughter. Her name was Ada Wong and she seemed to have her hand in darker things than what Chris figured Leon realized. Here she was, working for Wesker. Again. The short-haired woman quietly observed his entrance and the exchange between Krauser and Excella before deciding to approach. Chris wasn't the only one stunned when the woman in the red dress extended her hand towards him.

“Chris? Chris Redfield, right? It is truly a pleasure to finally meet you.” Ada said to him with a soft smile.

He looked at her in his surprise but hesitantly shook her hand in greeting. The BSAA soldier couldn't understand what she was up to. What was she doing pretending to be friendly with him? Unless..she wasn't pretending. Leon had told Chris he could never quite figure the woman out because of how sometimes she would save his life, while successfully ensuring her mission was getting completed.

He didn't know what to think so he decided to be cautious over eagerness at finding a possible ally. “Uh, right. Pleasure meeting you while being held captive. This is definitely the highlight of my entire week.”

Excella sniffed, obviously unclear as to what Chris was doing there, especially alive. Krauser's lips upturned in a half smile at his sarcasm, Wesker remained expressionless as usual, and Ada took his retort in stride.

“Yes, well, you _are_ alive. Alive to fight another day.” She released his hand and placed her hand to her hip. “I'm serious when I say it is an honor to meet such an infamous soldier. My name is-”

“Ada. Ada Wong. I know.” Chris interrupted. “Leon's told me about you. Says you shouldn't be trusted. Your priorities are yourself and your mission. Whichever mission is your real one anyway.”

It was difficult to gauge Ada's reaction to his words as she kept a fairly straight face. But for half a second, Chris could of sworn he'd seen hurt flicker briefly in her eyes. Then the moment was gone and she was smiling gently at him again.

“It's good that you know me. Then we've already been acquainted.”

Chris stared at her. Had he imagined things or was she trying to get a message through to him with those words? There was no way he could know for sure and then she was walking away. He glanced at Wesker and that was when he saw them out of the large overhead window. To a stranger of battles and weaponry, the multiple spots of orange light in the sky would have appeared to be just that. To a veteran like Chris though, he knew they were missiles likely fired from the cannons of several combat choppers.

“Uh..Wesker...” he started.

Wesker glanced over his shoulder and then was already moving. A black blur yanking Chris by the arm and dragging him in the direction of the plane which the other three were hurrying toward at the same time. The missiles reached the aircraft hanger and slammed through the roof, battering down into the concrete ground with the force of a speeding train. All five of them were thrown off their feet simultaneously.

The superhuman blonde was the first up and Chris saw him run into the plane, turning on the engine and preparing it for take off. Krauser was shoving Excella into the plane before she got herself killed by simply sitting on the ground as she had been and Ada was shouting something at Chris from where she crouched near the back of the plane. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears from a missile exploding so close to him.

Her shouting vaguely turned into fragments of sentences. _Chris. Look. Run._ Those were the only words he could manage to snag from her yelling. Ada was repeating the word 'look' the most often and so he peered around in front of him. There was nothing special to find so he proceeded to peer over his shoulder and his heart stopped. Three hunters were closing the distance between him through the wide open fourth wall where the plane would make its exit, and one of them paused to leap.

His first reaction was to be frozen in shock but he shook the fear away before it could paralyze him and instead threw himself as hard as he could sideways. The hunter landed directly on the spot he'd been lying moments before, a giant tear in the hard floor where the monster had swept its claw. If he hadn't been able to move, that tear would have been his entire backside split apart.

The hunter was turning its beady black eyes towards Chris. He ran for it, heading for the front of the plane. He was almost within touching distance of the aircraft when a fourth hunter appeared from around the nose of the craft. Chris had been running full speed and now being forced to try and turn, he started to slip on the ground as he twisted. He slid and fell onto his side and this slip up saved his life. The hunter chasing from behind had chosen to leap at the same moment and because of this, the momentum from its jump sent it crashing into the hunter in front of him, instead of onto Chris himself.

He scrambled to his feet and raced to board the plane, Ada staring wide-eyed in his direction as he made his desperate flee to safety. A glance over his shoulder told him why and made him wish he hadn't looked in the first place. The other two hunters were nearly upon him and he had no hope of outrunning them. The woman in red had her gun out but she couldn't fire without the risk of hitting him as well. As a soldier, Chris knew when he was dead. He stopped in his tracks and stared as one of the hunters passed the other and raised up a claw to swipe at him. He clenched his jaw and hardened his gaze, waiting for death to claim him.

But then Krauser suddenly appeared in front of him and quite literally punched the hunter in the head as though it were a mere nuisance. The creature squealed and stumbled back into the other one leaving them both vulnerable for attack, which Krauser used by twisting his body to sidekick the same hunter. The blow sent both monsters flying back several yards and Chris stared as this took place, impressed and stunned.

Krauser turned and grabbed him roughly by the back of the neck, shoving him in the direction of the open side door of the plane where Ada was standing.

“Move it, pretty boy. Or that skin won't be on you much longer.”

Chris didn't have to be told twice. He ignored the flinch he'd automatically done when his torturer touched his neck and ran with as much speed as he could muster. He climbed up onto the plane, Krauser close behind, and Ada immediately moved to close the door. As soon as they were all inside he could feel the plane visibly tremble as it started to move, heading out the open wall and out of the hangar.

“I thought Wesker could control those things.” Chris gasped out when he'd gulped enough oxygen for him to be able to speak. “Why the hell are they attacking us?”

Ada regarded him with a very serious expression but didn't answer him. Chris doubted she knew the answer either. He reluctantly turned to Krauser in hopes of an answer but then Excella spoke.

“Perhaps Wesker is not the only one who can control them. Is he the only one of his kind?”

Twice in such a short period, Chris felt like his heart had stopped. When he'd been inside the Spencer Estate two years ago, he had found documents. There had been a list with thirteen names. A list of the surviving Wesker Children.

The plane took off into the air with no more incident but he didn't feel anywhere near safe. There were twelve possibilities as to who attacked them if it was one of the survivors of the Wesker Project. Chris had a sinking feeling it would be just his luck that he would be meeting another evil bastard like Wesker. Because apparently, one person like Wesker wasn't enough.


	5. Deception Breeds Ignorance

_Expensive._ That was the first word that came to his mind as he stared up at the tall Tricell building before him. Chris couldn't believe Excella Gionne would receive no repercussions for her massive failure of any productivity or valuable use of Tricell funding while in charge of the African division. Instead it was as though nothing ever happened as she was greeted like a VIP guest and ushered along the cold and uninviting hallways of the pharmaceutical corporation's building in Paris. Chris trailed behind her with Ada Wong.

The employee who'd welcomed the CEO of Tricell's African branch at the entrance, had barely registered the presence of him or Ada. Chris suspected it was either because they were nobodies in this building, or it was simply because Excella bore the looks and dress of a fashion model and like any man with raging hormones, he didn't want to take his eyes off of her.

He couldn't understand this desire to ogle Excella's..assets. Of course, that could easily be explained by her attempts to murder Chris on several occasions or the obvious disdain she held for the BSAA agent. Even if everything that happened in Africa hadn't happened, he would have been able to see through her facade immediately. The tall, pretty woman used her appearance to get what she wanted and used her respected lineage to have whatever her heart desired as well. Chris suspected the woman tended to use these things to get what her pocket desired rather than her heart, if it could even be said, that she had one.

“Wait in here. I have things that need attending to.” Excella informed them, her nose stuck up in the air as usual.

For a brief moment he pondered about how easy it would be to wipe the superior mentality she held, right out of existence. All he had to do was sock her in the mouth and point out his capability of ending her life right then and there. Chris would never murder someone outright and avoided killing even enemies when he could, because the job called for him to make arrests and gather information. But Excella wasn't likely privy to such information and the look of fear she'd hold in those eyes wouldn't leave his mind anytime soon.

But he didn't do any sort of violent act. He didn't do those things. No, he seemed to have those things done to him quite often though. The soldier was continuously beaten down again and again but he kept going. Why? Because it was his job and because he had to. If he didn't keep himself fighting and keep himself moving forward, what else was there?

Instead of beating the smug expression off Excella's face like _his_ heart desired, he moved into the office she wanted them to wait in and took a seat on a comfy looking sofa. Ada followed his lead and sat at the other end of the sofa, appearing completely at ease. Chris was no fool. He knew this was what she wanted people around her to think. If everyone thought the woman in red was relaxed and off-guard, they would be the ones taken off-guard when she suddenly became alert and fully capable of taking care of herself.

He watched Excella's retreating form moving down the hall with the male employee who was currently lingering slightly behind the high-heel wearing woman, in order to get a better view of her backside. He had to smile at that but only on the inside. He couldn't seem to get himself to feel emotions enough for them to appear on the outside, except for fear and anger. Those emotions would appear quite readily on the surface. He leaned back against the cushions and rested his head on the soft fabric, closing his eyes as he did so.

“You okay?” he heard Ada ask and felt her watchful eyes on his face.

“What do you think?”

“That's not an answer.”

“Neither was yours.”

“I'm sorry you're in this situation.”

“Are you really?”

“Of course. You don't believe me?”

“Give me a reason to.”

Silence reigned for a good minute before Ada finally responded.

“If I thought you would be safer somewhere else, I'd help you escape.”

Okay, he had to admit, that response was unexpected and he wasn't sure what to make of it. Chris opened his eyes and raised his head to meet her intense gaze.

“I'm lost. You think I'm safer here as a captive rather than free and working for the BSAA?”

“Yes.”

When she didn't elaborate, he tried to help her along. “And..you believe this..because...?”

“Because I know you,” she said to him, “you're a lot like Leon.”

“Leon? Leon Kennedy? I'm like him, huh?”

“Yes, you are. A man who won't give up no matter how bleak the situation. You're going to run off and get yourself killed if you keep doing things the way you do.”

“Oh? And how's that?” Chris asked her, frowning at the insinuation that he wasn't capable of taking care of himself.

“Wesker.”

He'd been preparing himself for an argument until she'd lost him by stating a name out of the blue. A mention of Wesker to be precise. Chris sat forward and stared hard at the woman across from him at the other end of the sofa.

“Excuse me?”

“You can't kill him, Chris. And certainly not by yourself. He's going to be the death of you. You've got to stop fighting and start learning. The things that man knows can keep you alive and in good health too.”

“He's not a man. Not anymore.”

“You know what I mean and you are well aware of how evil other people can be too.”

When she'd said that she was busy staring at his still very bruised and cut up face. The swelling on his eye had gone down so that he was able to open it but there remained plenty of bruising around it so it didn't look a whole lot better. Chris bore the weight of what Ada had originally been trying to ask him before when she'd asked if he was okay. The female spy wanted to know if mentally he was the same or at least could be one day. He pretended he hadn't uncovered that genuine concern from the woman seated near him and instead returned to where their conversation had taken them. Albert _fuckin'_ Wesker.

“That..freak..is a reject of Umbrella's and he deserves to die.” Chris informed Ada through clenched teeth.

“He's not the only one you know.”

The information he read about in Spencer's office at his estate rang through his head again. The Wesker Project. Thirteen survivors including Albert Wesker. There were most likely twelve others out there with abilities identical to the blonde tyrant he knew. Maybe he'd get lucky and they might have died at the hands of Umbrella? Or maybe they had no desire for complete and total world domination and the evolution of mankind like a certain tyrant he knew? Yeah right..and maybe he could pretend he wasn't sitting in a Tricell facility across from an untrustworthy female agent against his own free will.

/

“So there are twelve others like you? You simply must be toying with me Albert. How could you not tell me of this?”

Excella Gionne placed her delicate hands on her hips and regarded Wesker with the utmost curiosity and fascination. Albert Wesker had always been an object of her admiration since the day he'd come to her with a proposition for a little project he had in mind to do in Africa. Her interest in the man had only grown as time went on and she believed her position of power was growing because of their mutual interest to claim more. Albert was the same way. He desired power and although he was quite powerful all on his own, he recognized he still had limits. For even a man with superhuman abilities couldn't take on an entire army. Or at least, Excella knew the man wasn't willing to take the risk by attempting to do so.

She stood in front of a large monitor displaying thirteen images, headshots of all thirteen men and women who were survivors of the Wesker Project. A picture of Albert was on the top row, second down, and aforementioned man was standing right beside her in the flesh. The series of photos were in a total of three rows with names under each. The order went like this: Alex, Albert, Derek, Felicia. Hans, Hiro, Irma, Jonah. Ken, Laura, Marco, Miles, and William.

“Spencer informed me of being the only survivor.” Wesker mentioned, to answer Excella's surprised reaction of the photos displayed on the large screen.

“And what? You took that guy at face value?” Krauser questioned with a frown, moving from the doorway to where she and Albert were standing to get a better look at the images of the thirteen.

“I'm merely stating what I was informed. Whether I believe him or not is irrelevant.”

“On the contrary, it's very relevant.” Excella pointed out, hating that she was disproving what he had said, to say what she needed to. “Whether you believe Mr. Spencer is a pressing matter since it will determine our next step.”

“It needn't determine anything,” the intellectual leader said in reply as he turned away from the monitor and peered down at her over the rims of his dark sunglasses. “Should there happen to be any other project survivors out there, they are not a factor in what I am trying to accomplish.”

“What _we_ are trying to accomplish,” she corrected him, letting her hands fall loosely off of her hips so she wasn't in her defensive position any more.

He shifted his stance away from her to give his attention to Krauser and she felt doubt creeping around inside once again. More and more she'd begun to feel this..doubt. Doubt that she was really all that important or even necessary to Albert. That maybe she was only a means to an end for the plotting man. Excella dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. No, no, no. She was needed. And even if that no longer became true, Albert wanted her to be there.

He liked her company, right? A quiet voice in the back of her mind told her she was being unreasonable, that a powerful, inhuman figure like Albert Wesker would never need her for anything. But as she always did, she shut the voice out, and smiled coyly at him even though he was speaking with Krauser at the moment. Yeah, Albert needed her. He did. It was true. It had to be.

/

“Mr. Redfield? Miss Wong?”

Chris and Ada both simultaneously jerked from their respective methods of pretending the other wasn't in the room. This was what they'd been occupying themselves with for the last five minutes, ever since their conversation ended on a rather displeasing note. The reminder there could possibly be a dozen others like Wesker out there running about in the world doing only God knows what. _Anything from murdering innocents to plotting grand schemes of world domination._ Chris thought bitterly to himself.

“Mr. Redfield?”

The quiet voice said again. Chris tore his eyes away from staring at the ceiling to find a pretty Asian woman, perhaps in her late 30's or early 40's, standing in the doorway. She wore small framed glasses perched on a small pointed nose and her soft, thin lips were upturned in a polite but uneasy smile. Altogether, her entire five foot frame appeared unsettled and he realized she was uncomfortable talking to him and Ada. The woman was wearing nice black dress pants and a dark blue blouse. Her black hair was pulled back in a short ponytail and a white lab coat down past her knees completed the look.

Chris realized he'd been staring and he glanced away before looking back at her, standing as he did this.

“Yeah, that's me. And you are?”

“I'm a scientist in the lab here. I've been sent by Miss Gionne to bring yourself and Miss Wong to her.”

Ada got to her feet as Chris had as he forced a smile to the newly arrived woman. The attempt probably came across as more of a wince than a smile of any kind.

“You got a name or am I just supposed to call you scientist?” Chris asked her.

The woman shook her head apologetically and adjusted her glasses so they were better fixed atop her nose. “Yes, of course. My name is Dr. Chen. Dr. Laura Chen.”

She flashed him a genuine smile this time, her eyes lighting up slightly. “But you can just call me Laura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be taking liberties with the descriptions of all Wesker children. I think I read somewhere that there is only one survivor left besides Wesker of the twelve injected with the experimental virus, but, this is my fiction and so all thirteen are alive. ^_^


	6. Number Ten

He abhorred Seattle. The weather was always gloomy and it had been raining constantly since he'd flown into Washington three days ago. The 6'2'' man stood alone in the room and hadn't bothered to turn on the lights. He preferred the dark. An outsider could probably come to this conclusion on their own because of the color choice of his clothing. He was dressed in combat pants, a tank top, an expensive jacket, steel-tipped boots. Completing the look was a pair of sunglasses and a baseball cap that covered dark brown hair. All of his apparel entirely black.

Despite his distaste for the city, Lex Mason continued staring out the large window at the rain pounding against the glass. His business was nearly finished here and then he would move on to a warmer climate. Not that heat or cold mattered much to him, but he just seemed to approve of hotter areas for some reason. Perhaps it was because he found twisted amusement in watching the discomfort of people when they felt stifled by unbearable heat.

Thunder rumbled like a discontented lion and lightning flashed across the sky. Rain was a miserable thing, but a storm, now that he could enjoy. In a few hours, the rain would be inconsequential anyway. There were just a few loose ends to tie up before he would leave the city, and had yet to hear back from his men in Africa. As though his thoughts had been anticipated, a man in a black suit and tie walked into the conference room.

“Sir, the African compound was completely destroyed. All traces of Uroboros has been eradicated.”

“Any survivors?” Mason questioned without turning away from the window.

When his question was met with silence, he reluctantly inclined his head in the direction of the suited man.

“Well?”

“A plane was seen taking off a short distance from the main area of the compound. We believe the target was at least on board, if not the one piloting the aircraft.”

The man appeared uncomfortable passing this news on to Mason.

“Was the target alone?”

“We can't confirm that, sir,” came the nervous reply.

“Very well, anything else?”

The nicely dressed man visibly grew more relaxed at how well the report was received. “Hans Laumont has arrived and is waiting outside.”

“He's which one again?” Mason asked, turning around to fully face his employee.

“Number five of the Wesker Project, sir.”

“Very good, send him in,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the suited man answered before exciting the room quickly.

A tall, lanky man with close-shaven, pale white hair and red tinted sunglasses entered the conference room. He wore a tan three-piece suit, clearly expensive, and walked with a kind of swagger. It was clear he was an arrogant type looking down on the rest of the world. Mason allowed a slight smile to creep across his face. For feeling superior to everyone else, this Hans Laumont certainly hadn't realized he'd just been lured in like a fly to the spider's web. All Lex had to do was leave some bread crumbs of his identity and that he was searching for the Wesker children, and Hans had soon after contacted him. It was just too easy.

“Mr. Laumont, a pleasure to meet you.” Mason greeted.

He approached the man and extended a hand. The two men shook hands, brief but firm, before pulling back to size one another up.

“You are Mr. Mason, I presume?”

The man spoke with a clear English accent. The amused smile had yet to leave Lex's face and Hans appeared to be growing disturbed by the sight. He was now slightly frowning at the darkly clothed man, a crease forming between his two perfectly groomed eyebrows.

“Do you find something to be humorous, Mr. Mason? Something that escapes me, perhaps?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Mason told him, smile becoming positively shark-like.

He reached into his jacket to retrieve a particular object and stabbed it into Hans's chest, straight into the heart. The man made a choking noise, reaching up to pull the syringe out of his body, eyes bulging in total surprise. His body jerked back, red shades slipping off of his nose and clattering to the floor. Red-yellow eyes stared at his attacker.

The black-clad man snatched the syringe from Laumont's hand and wrapped his fingers around the shorter man's throat.

“One down, eleven to go.” Mason practically snarled at him.

He pocketed the empty syringe and took out another, imitating his previous action with the first needle. Hans only grunted in further pain and surprise before his mutated eyes fluttered closed and his body went limp. As soon as the body went slack in his grasp, Mason released Laumont's neck, letting him crumple to the floor. He pocketed the second empty syringe and shook his head slowly.

“I'm disappointed, number five. I expected a fight out of a Wesker child. I hope they're all not this easy. I'd like a challenge.. Kincaid!”

The man in the black suit and tie reappeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”

“Prepare the private jet. I'm flying out tonight.”

/

Chris walked alongside Laura as they headed to the facility's laboratory together. They reached the elevator at the end of the hall and the doctor swiped her card through a scanner, gaining access to the panel. The Asian woman stepped into the elevator and he followed her in, doors shutting automatically behind them. She pressed the button for the second basement level and the elevator began its descent.

Ada would have gone with them to meet Excella and the others but she'd excused herself when her cell phone made a noise. She said she'd catch up with them. He wasn't sure how exactly the woman planned to do that. She didn't even know where the lab was in this building. Of course, with Ada's past experiences, Chris wouldn't put it past the operative to swipe some guard's access card to use the elevator to make her own way down to the laboratory to meet them. She had a way of figuring things out for herself as far as he could tell.

When the elevator came to a halt, the doors opened and the two stepped out. Dr. Chen moved down the wide, brightly lit hallway at a brisk pace. He had to put a little effort into his walk to force his tired and still rather injured body to move, in order to keep pace with the woman. It was after they'd gone about ten yards along the empty corridor when he began to feel as though something was off.

It was very quiet and there was a familiar smell in the air. Everything felt..wrong. The silence that reigned reminded Chris of the underground labs when he'd been trapped in the mansion outside Raccoon City in 1998. The silence was one that sounded a warning in his heart. And the smell..the coppery smell coming from nearby. It was the smell of blood and by the strong scent of it, relatively fresh blood. On instinct, he lowered his hand to his gun holster on his right thigh, only to remember that Wesker hadn't given him any of his weapons or equipment back. It felt like his heart was pounding in his ears as panic threatened to take hold of him. He was unarmed and there was something deadly down there with him. With him and Laura. He'd forgotten about the doctor for a minute.

“Dr. Chen.”

The woman glanced over at him, completely oblivious to the imminent danger he could sense. She gave him a pretend annoyed look and then smiled gently.

“I told you, you can call me Laura.”

“Laura. Stop.”

She did stop. He could tell she could hear in his tone that he was dead serious.

“Is everything alright, Mr. Redfield?”

He started to respond to her when something caught his attention. She'd shoved her access card for the elevator back in her pocket but the top half of it was still sticking out a bit. He couldn't read anything on it but the picture was within his line of sight, and it was a picture of a white woman with blonde hair. It was only then he spotted the bulge in that same pocket of a familiar form, He internally scolded himself for not noticing sooner. The “doctor” was carrying a gun.

Chris raised his eyes to more closely examine Laura's face and that's when he saw it. He had been lucky and looked at just the right moment. He'd looked in time to spot a brown contact lens shifting lazily back into place over what he was fairly certain was a yellow iris rimmed with red.

“Mr. Redfield? Is something wrong?” Dr. Chen asked him, sounding genuinely concerned.

She was a good actress. He'd give her that much. The agent lunged forward and successfully snatched the weapon from her pocket, the access card slipping out and onto the floor. The gun was a 9mm and felt comfortable in Chris's hands. In the STARS organization, a 9mm Beretta had been standard issue. He leveled the gun at her, the weight of a loaded weapon had never felt so good.

“You're what's wrong, Laura. If that's even your name.”

The woman dropped the act immediately. “It's really too bad you didn't realize who I was until we came down to the basement. You would have stood a much higher chance of survival. Though, your odds were already quite bleak the moment I got you alone.”

“I think you mean _what_ you are. I _didn't_ realize what you are. But now that I know you're a monster, I can put you down.”

The pretty Asian woman gave him a small smile, though the smile never came close to reaching her eyes. She removed her prescription glasses and let them drop to the ground where they broke on impact.

“I heard you have encountered one of us before. I've heard you fought him three times and survived each encounter.” Laura told him, relaxing her stance into a fighting position. “Now, you will fight me. Come on, let's play.”

/

The screaming. He loved it when they screamed. Cries of pure agony and torment. Was it a sick and twisted perversion? Yes, probably. But he liked it that way. Krauser glanced briefly to where Wesker was staring at the thirteen images up on the screen, Excella practically hanging off his side as she pretended to share the same interest in the pictures. That woman would never allow herself to see the truth. Wesker didn't need her. He didn't need anyone nor did he want anyone.

Wesker was like Krauser in that respect. They cared nothing for human beings. And Krauser, well he liked to make people suffer. It was his favorite thing to do when he had some free time. After the military treated his life-long ambition and passion to do good in their service like it was nothing, he'd left anything good behind. This moved his thinking to the latest conquest, the relentless Christopher Redfield.

_“Hm..humor as a defense mechanism.”_

_Krauser had seen it as clear as day. Chris Redfield kept his fear inside for as long as he possibly could. Using defiance on him was no good, however. With his superhuman capabilities, he could smell the very fear off of a man. This man was afraid whether he even realized it himself yet. Redfield tried to deny that he used humor to deflect the scared feelings fighting to emerge on the surface. This angered him and he brought his combat knife up and against the other man's throat in a heartbeat._

_“Why don't we start off with something real simple. Your name.”_

_“No.”_

_“Your name.”_

_“Not-going-to-happen.”_

_Krauser lifted the knife from Chris's neck and the man appeared to relax, seeming to think immediate danger was gone for the time being. He brought the knife down at an angle, slashing his prey across the chest. His prisoner managed to hold in the shout that so clearly desired to emerge from his throat, keeping his lips tightly sealed to contain the outward signs of pain beneath his false bravado._

_This captive had courage and a strong will. Well...Krauser would soon break him of that._

_He clenched a hand around Redfield's neck, his grip gentle but unmistakably threatening. The other hand ran the knife slowly down the side of Chris's face. He had to hand it to him; the man didn't even flinch or balk as the two locked eyes._

_“So tell me soldier, have you ever been caught by the enemy before?”_

_“Define caught.”_

_“That's a yes.” Krauser concluded with a smirk._

_He let the smile drop from his face. “I can tell you this, pretty boy. You've never been captured by someone like me. And you and I, we're gonna have a hell of a time.”_

_With the conclusion of that sentence, he tightened his grasp around Chris's throat and stabbed the knife deep into the flesh of his thigh. A strangled cry escaped the man's mouth before he could stop it and this brought a smile to his lips._

_“Now we're getting somewhere.”_

Krauser became aware that Wesker was telling Excella Gionne that they were going to retrieve Chris and Ada before heading out of the facility. He must have missed what their next destination was going to be but it didn't matter. Wesker would directly give him his orders and he would follow them. He would do so because he was certain of one thing, that blonde tyrant was on the winning side of whatever he decided to go up against. The superhuman being aimed to transform the world into something much more glorious and Krauser was behind that a hundred percent. It's not like a freak like him had anywhere else to go anyway.

He followed silently behind Wesker and the Italian woman as they left the room and went down the hallway back to the waiting area where they'd left the other two. It only took them a minute to get there but when they did, only one of the two was still waiting for them. Ada Wong stood over by a sofa, arms crossed over her chest. Her head was slightly tilted to the side and she was biting anxiously on her bottom lip. When Krauser came into the room with Wesker and Excella, the woman in red seemed relieved.

“There you are. I thought I'd be able to find the labs but you need a keycard to use the elevator so I couldn't exactly get there on my own.” Ada told them.

Excella frowned at her. “The labs? You?”

It was obvious to the soldier that the rich woman didn't know what she was to think at the moment and apparently had opted to utter gibberish coated in snobbery.

“Where's Chris?” Wesker demanded of the Asian woman.

Ada gave the tyrant a confused look. “He went with that doctor to the lab. I had a call to take, said I'd find them when I was done.”

“What doctor?” Excella questioned, her tone suspicious.

“Dr. Chen. Um..Dr. Laura Chen. She said she was a scientist at the lab here. She told Chris and I that Excella sent her to take us to you guys. She was lying? Well then who is she?”

“Laura, Wesker child number ten.” Wesker stated.

Krauser found this turn of events to be obnoxious. “One of them here? What would they be doing here in one of Tricell's buildings?”

“I have a better question.” Ada pointed out. “What would a Wesker child want with Chris?”


	7. Preferential Treatment from Influential Individuals

There was a certain thrill that came with every fight. There was a surge of adrenaline that coursed through one's body as they tapped into energy normally kept in reserve. When a person enters into a fight, the key to winning is to always remain at least two steps ahead of the opponent or opponents. In certain cases, the adversary is more adept, a higher caliber fighter. When this is the case, being even one step ahead of the opposition may be impossible and a very different fighting style must be adapted. This style of fighting was what Chris had selected to use at the moment.

The type of fighting basically consisted of trying to stay alive by running and shooting pointlessly, as 9mm bullets, even if they managed to hit the super fast form of Laura Chen, would be little more than an irritation to her. That was something Chris learned with Wesker. It was better not to piss off a being with, admittedly, exceptional abilities. When that happened, they tended to blame you for the failure of their original plans and hunt you down with a strong desire to cause you an agonizing death. Following that line of thinking made Chris wonder why Wesker had left him alive, when killing him would have been as simple as swatting a fly. Instead the tyrant had chosen to effectively mindfuck him, while literally fucking him as well, into confusing the hell out of him. It left the BSAA agent to flounder as he tried to figure out where to go from there.

He ducked as a large steel pipe that had once been attached to the ceiling came flying at his head. The chunk of metal missed him by only a few inches and embedded into the wall. He sank to one knee behind one of four steel containers in the hallway where the elevator resided, catching his breath. This Wesker child, Laura, really liked to throw whatever was handy. It reminded him of an ex-girlfriend actually. WHAM! A fist nailed the side of the container centimeters from where his face was.

"Come on, Chris." Laura taunted, standing directly in front of him and leering with a rather wicked smile and yellow-red eyes.

It seemed she shed the brown contacts sometime in the last few minutes while he'd ducked and dodged flying objects.

"Get your head in the game."

She snaked out a hand to latch it around his throat. Chris placed the muzzle of the handgun to her chest and pulled the trigger three times. The Asian woman cursed and backhanded him so hard against the face that he was knocked sideways off his feet.

While he was trying to figure out which direction was the ceiling and which way was the floor, Laura was frowning down at her blouse which was bloodstained and now contained holes. She gritted her teeth and glared at Chris.

"I-really-liked-this-shirt," she informed him, placing emphasis on every word.

He raised his eyebrows at the superhuman being and did what any muscular, relatively healthy, all-American man would do in this situation. As her eyes began to glow red, the virus on overdrive while she was healing, he ran the other way.

Chris rounded the wide corner and skidded to an abrupt halt. There were at least four bodies of scientists in white lab coats splayed across the floor in front of him, blood spray covering sections of the room near the corpses. There were also black counters with vials and beakers everywhere. It seemed he'd found the labs.

A door opened and closed in a hall branching off from the lab area. A man with short brownish-blonde hair, wearing a light blue v-necked t-shirt and dark blue jeans, was standing in the brightly lit corridor connected to the lab.

Upon seeing Chris standing at the opposite end of the lab, he smiled. The agent was curious to know if all the Wesker children somehow had the same creepy smirk, because although he couldn't clearly see the color of the man's eyes, Chris knew he was a product of the Wesker Project as well.

"Hello. Christopher Redfield, right? My name's Jonah. I'd watch out if I were you."

He glanced over his shoulder and did a double-take before diving for cover behind one of the counters. Bullets sprayed the countertop from a machine gun Laura had acquired sometime in the last thirty seconds. He heard glass shattering and Chris silently hoped there were no dangerous chemicals or viruses in any of the beakers or containers stored on the lab tables. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse than facing down not one, but two Wesker children, he heard the sound of padded feet on the hard white floor. A quiet growl began to grow louder as it drew closer. A canine growl.

The bullet spray ceased for the moment so the agent used the opportunity to sneak a peek over the countertop. The man, Jonah, was holding the door he'd recently come from open, allowing three dogs out of the room and into the lab. Chris had no doubt that these creatures were infected with the deadly T-Virus and that they wouldn't hesitate to rip his throat out. He found himself wishing he hadn't wasted so many bullets on Laura. Checking the clip, he only had five rounds left. He would need perfect headshots to take them all out.

The agent raised his weapon and aimed to shoot the dog closest to him. The shot missed when he was forced to dive to the floor, scrambling to get behind the other counter. Laura was shooting at him again. The distraction was enough to give the dogs the time to reach the former S.T.A.R.S. member. One of them leaped at his throat and he was able to raise his arm up in time to deflect the canine, who bounced twice before sliding to a halt several yards away. Razor sharp teeth clamped down on his leg and yanked. Chris shouted out in pain as he was dragged a few feet by the T-Virus afflicted animal.

The third dog jumped onto his chest, barking and chomping at his throat. The agent brought the gun up to the side of the creature's head and pulled the trigger, blowing its skull apart. He then lifted a heavy boot from the leg not being assailed, and jammed it against the dog's gnashing teeth. The animal was temporarily knocked back and Chris used the opportunity to put a bullet square between its eyes.

It went down with a whimper and a thrash or two, ceasing to move after that. Two down, one to go. He got up and ran across the room as a spray of bullets hammered the ground where he'd been lying. The big weapon clicked empty and Laura tossed the gun to the side, narrowing her eyes.

"You're not paying attention!"

Using her superhuman speed, she crossed the room and lifted him up by the throat. It didn't seem fair. Chris was as buff as he'd been able to get over ten years of hardcore workouts, the workouts increasing for absurd durations after Jill had fallen through that window two years ago. Yet this female had the capability to send him soaring across the room with the flick of a single finger. Continuing to hold him up off of the ground, he could already tell the crushing grip would leave bruising on his neck. She stared at him until he met her gaze.

"Look at me!" she demanded of him, shaking him a little. "You're supposed to be something special. You have an excellent survival rate, unshakable beliefs, relentless desire to sacrifice your own well-being for the sake of others..the stuff heroes are made of."

Chris's eyes shifted to his left when he heard someone approach. It was Jonah and the remaining Doberman. The infected canine was sitting quietly beside the man like a dutiful pet dog.

"So come on, hero," the male Wesker child started with a smile. "Show us what you've got. Show us what a human is like."

Laura threw him to the ground and backed off, dropping a magnum at his feet. Chris checked the gun, it was loaded with a nine round clip. The BSAA agent looked from Jonah to Laura, neither saying a word until he got to his feet. Laura adjusted the lab coat, ensuring it was snugly around her shoulders and gave him a small smile.

"Time to play."

/

Wesker, Excella, Krauser, and Ada rounded the corner to the hall with the elevator at a brisk pace. Excella had notified security of the situation in the labs and ordered them to steer clear but guard the elevator for anyone who might try to leave. Therefore, Wesker fully anticipated the half dozen bodies they found strewn about the white-walled hallway. However, he did not expect the two people, a man and a woman, standing in front of the elevator doors. They wore nothing to conceal their eyes and it became immediately perceived they were both Wesker children.

The woman was of African-American descent with long black curls cascading down over her shoulders. She wore a dark brown shirt, a red leather jacket, tan pants, and a dark brown belt and heeled boots of a matching color. The other individual was a white male with a shaved beard and an angular appearance. He was tall and lanky, but still visibly muscular. This one was about six feet tall, wearing a black silk dress shirt, dark slacks, and a handsome face that bore a smug smile as he watched the four approach. They stopped a relatively safe distance away and the woman chose that moment to speak.

"Felicia, Miles,” she introduced. “We're in place as an intervention..of sorts. Jonah and Laura don't want any interruptions so we're here to entertain you."

Wesker gritted his teeth, the only sign of his irritation at the delay. "Not interested."

"I don't believe we asked if you were interested or not." Miles started, quick to be angry. He took a couple of menacing steps towards the four of them but stopped when Felicia held up a hand.

"Calm yourself, Miles. Wouldn't want to hurt one of our own now would we."

The Wesker child just grunted and ran a hand over his shaved skull, scuffing a shoe against the floor. "I wanna play with Mr. Hero. Why'd I get stuck up here while Jonah gets all the fun?"

"Shut up!" Felicia snarled, then took off at a super fast run down the hall toward them.

Krauser and Wesker glanced at one another, a silent message exchanged, and then the latter ran past the female Wesker child while he readied himself to face Felicia. Ada on the other hand, stood back, keeping Excella behind her. The secretive agent would have liked to join the fight but she knew right now they'd want her watching out for the Italian woman. She did, after all, have her uses.

Wesker smashed shoulder first into Miles, driving them both into the elevator doors. The metal dented inward slightly from the impact of their bodies. They fought brutally, neither of them relenting or showing signs of easing up anytime soon. Krauser was using more of a guerrilla tactic with his fight, attacking Felicia and then backing off or hiding around a corner. He was drawing her farther and farther away from the elevator hallway, but she either didn't notice or didn't care.

"Interesting." Felicia noted, ducking a punch from the muscular man and hitting him square in the chest with a spin kick. The big man stumbled back and the Wesker subject continued her thought.

"This isn't any virus I'm familiar with. Perhaps a parasite of some sort. You appear in control of your temper..so not Type 2. Perhaps your body has been modified with a version of Type 1 Las Plagas then?"

Krauser's answer was a right hook to her face before backflipping several times to put distance between them.

"Maybe I'm just good at appearing to be what I'm not."

The Wesker child's gaze lowered to his left arm where veins were beginning to bulge and the skin was darkening. A smile spread across her face as she observed this.

"Maybe," the woman commented, her eyes still on his arm, which was slowly returning to its regular skin tone.

It was as though simply by looking, she knew that arm could mutate if he was wounded or got angered enough. Krauser glowered at her, annoyed Felicia was trying to examine him while they fought.

"See, that's the trouble with you women." He raised both arms as though to signify he was harmless. He was anything but. "You ruin your appearance of beauty when you open those pretty mouths of yours and talk, talk, talk."

The woman stared down the corridor at him, her gaze stone cold.

"And then there are guys like you." Felicia mentioned, continuing to stare him dead in the eye. "People only have to take one look and they'll know what you're all about."

Krauser chuckled at the retort. "I'm hiding the pain, really."

"A man like you is simple to understand. Makes it all the more easy to exterminate your kind from the face of the planet. People like you have a one track mind that'll destroy you every time. I've seen plenty of people like you. So certain of your invincibility, so certain of your strengths and abilities. That one track mind though.."

She drew a magnum revolver that had been tucked in the back of her belt and tapped it against the side of her head. "Sounds your defeat without failure."

"What the hell you talking about, one track mind? Men and their obsession with sex? What does that have to do with the destruction of my _type_ of people? I thought you Wesker project chosen ones were supposed to be of superior intellect."

Felicia didn't even blink. "Violence, Jack Krauser, not sex. You are a man of violence. You live and breathe it."

She leveled the heavy handgun to point at his head. Even with the relative distance between them, he had little doubt she could land a direct hit.

"You did great violence to Chris Redfield and yet he endures. This interests us greatly."

Krauser's breath caught. "What?"

A frown creased her cream-colored forehead. "I've said far more than I should have. Come now, let me introduce you to the darkness only true death can bring."

/

Wesker hit the wall back first but was gone by the time Mile's fist punched a hole into the concrete. The man managed to spin around in time to catch a roundhouse kick in the ribs. He grimaced as he straightened up, several broken ribs grinding against each other. His injuries did not deter him at all, however, and he began throwing fists, most likely hoping to wipe the smirk that had appeared on Wesker's face off. The tyrant flipped himself over his opponent, landing neatly on both feet in the direction of the other.

"You seem like a very angry man." Wesker observed, his tone conversational. "You should do what I do. Realize the full extent of your power and embrace it. Only then will you comprehend no one can stand in the way of your objectives."

"Godliness is your thing, Albert. _Fury_ is my power trip."

"It's Wesker, and don't you forget it."

"Now that you mention about no one being able to stand in your way.." Miles began, a rather sly smile growing on his face. "If that's true, how come you haven't accomplished your own objectives? Why is it we have yet to see your new world?"

"You won't succeed in getting a rise out of me." Wesker said, pushing his sunglasses firmly to ensure they stayed on his face. "I know this is what you are trying to do. Don't. I won't say it again."

"You like being in control don't you, _Wesker_. You control the circumstances around you in order to get what you want and when you don't, you do get angry. You get really angry. Like at Redfield. You feel such enormous hatred toward Chris Redfield that you could snuff out his life in the blink of an eye. But you're such a heartless and cruel bastard, you allow him to live because you know that is a greater sufferance for the man than death could ever bring."

"You're right and you're wrong." Wesker both admitted and denied. "I view everyone and everything around me as insignificant so I kill without remorse and I'm sure you do the same. I believe it may be a minor side effect of the experimental virus we were given. Chris, well, he's not just anyone. He's managed to hold his own against me in a fight for the most part, time and time again, so yes, he interests me."

"Now that, I believe." Miles told the other superhuman with a grin. "We find Chris Redfield to be remarkable. It's why we chose him."

Wesker froze, becoming impossibly still. "Chose?"

Instead of answering, Miles threw himself at the other man as he continued the persistent attack.


	8. Targeted

On July 22, 1998, Chris Redfield had had a very long day because apparently he lived to work. The recent gruesome murders of Raccoon City civilians found near or around the forest outside of the city kept him and the other S.T.A.R.S. members extremely busy searching for answers. Answers to victims found partially eaten, often by both animals and humans. He rarely had time for himself and barely time for things like dating. So when he did find himself a date, a second date, and then a third date with a woman who clerked for a judge, he jumped at the chance.

Chris had gotten lucky and knew it. Someone was willing to spend time with him when he actually had the time for her and that was a mercy to put up with a guy like that. Her name was Kara Hathaway and she was intelligent, beautiful, and attending law school as a third year while clerking to pay the bills. Better than all of that, she had a great laugh and she liked _him_.

He'd worked late at the STARS office which was housed in the Raccoon City police department, making a few phone calls to try and follow a lead concerning the bizarre murders only to end up with another dead end.

 

_It was raining and he was already twenty minutes late to meet Kara. He found her waiting just inside the entrance of the restaurant._

_"I'm sorry!" were the first words that spilled from his lips._

_She stared him down sternly, crossing her arms over her chest._

_"We said eight o'clock."_

_I know, I'm sorry. Time got away from me at work. Won't happen again."_

_"Like I haven't heard that one before," she glowered._

_Chris was silent for a moment, unsure of the right thing to say._

_"Kara.."_

_Her eyes lightened all of a sudden and Chris thought he saw the faintest twitch of her lips upturning. He looked closer at her._

_"Wait, are you joking?"_

_A smile spread across her face then. She'd been leading him on. Kara laughed softly at his stunned expression._

_"I'm learning to be a lawyer, Chris. Deception is often our game. I'm sure you've had that sort of trouble get in the way of your gungho ways, isn't that right?"_

_Her smile told him she was simply messing with him._

_"Again with the jokes. Is this my punishment for being late?" he asked as he followed her into the restaurant and to where the two of them were to wait to be seated._

_"Punishment? Consider this to be a treat."_

_They got the signal from the hostess and followed her to where they were seated at a small booth towards the back. Kara ordered wine and Chris stuck with water as the hostess left them to browse the items on the menu. Out of nowhere, she leaned slightly over the table and added to her previous sentence about treating him with her humor._

_"Hey, I'm funny."_

_He smiled at that. When a lady's right, she's right._

 

He never had another date with Kara. In fact, he never saw the young woman again. She likely perished along with the other inhabitants of Raccoon City after the outbreak occurred and the government stepped in with their solution of a nuclear bomb. Sometimes he felt guilt for not saving her. Guilt for not even thinking about her. He'd been too distraught by the deaths of many of the members of Alpha and Bravo team. Too devastated by the betrayal of his superior officer, Captain Albert Wesker, and the deception of the pharmaceutical corporation Umbrella. No surprises there. Chris had failed another woman in his life, another person he cared about.

There were numerous times throughout his life, when Chris had felt trapped and certain his chances of survival were slim to none. The mansion incident where many of his comrades and friends died in the span of two nights, was one of those times. He'd come to accept after that night, after learning Umbrella was going to get away with being the cause of the deaths of his fellow STARS soldiers, as well as many of the Corporation's own employees, that there would be many more missions to come. When he learned months later that his former captain, Albert Wesker, was still alive and no longer human, he became more determined than ever to continue the fight against people who would use biological weapons against innocents.

 _Count yourself dead at the outset._ That was what he had learned to do each time he was assigned to a mission by his organization, the BSAA. And so that was what he'd done when he had been assigned to the mission in Africa. To remain breathing even now was a miracle, or possibly God's idea of a sick joke. Either way, it didn't change anything. He was here in this Tricell facility fighting for his life. Fighting for his own life because even though it wasn't worth saving, to Chris, it was worth surviving as long as his living meant he would be able to continue fighting for others. For the ones who _were_ worth saving.

The agent ducked behind one of the lab counters for what felt like the hundredth time. This running and hiding tactic was getting old. All he had managed to accomplish with it was that now he was exhausted, not to mention bleeding at a relatively constant rate from a recently acquired bullet wound, and the two Wesker children were getting bored. He knew this because they were openly voicing it to him.

“Come out, come out, where ever you are.” Laura called out in a singsong way.

He heard Jonah's voice next. “I've found you!”

“Gah!”

The noise escaped Chris's throat as he was lifted from the ground by his shirt collar, a finger poking into his chest in an accusing manner.

“He's not trying,” the man holding him a few inches off the floor proposed to his partner.

The woman only shrugged. “Perhaps he wants to die. Perhaps we should grant him his request.”

“Not an option.” Jonah said sharply. “Maybe we are too powerful for him. His true potential may yet reveal itself, but not here.”

Chris really wanted the red-yellow eyes of the man to quit staring into his.

“You wish to go to phase two? So early?” the Asian woman asked after hopping down from a metal box she'd been probably using to find his hiding spot.

“Yes. It is as we thought. He needs incentive.”

“Hey!” Chris shouted at the man whose face was mere inches from his own. “I'm right here! Stop talking about me like I'm not here. Oh, and for the record, I sure as hell am trying.”

As he finished his words, that was the moment Chris chose to jam the piece of shrapnel he'd picked up during the time he'd been playing a rabbit to his two hunters in the facility's basement, deep into the man's chest. Jonah released him immediately and stumbled back, blood pouring from his lips.

“Jonah!”

Laura ran forward and Chris staggered away from the fallen Wesker child, preparing to try and defend himself from the other. He was surprised when she ignored him completely and chose to kneel by her male companion's side. He didn't understand a Wesker child showing genuine care and concern for another being in the slightest but he didn't have time to be curious or surprised. He wasn't going to waste his chance for escape. Chris ran for the exit, taking inventory of the condition his body was in as soon as he made it into the elevator, the doors sliding closed behind him.

One of his pant-legs was torn, the leg bloodied from where the dog had clamped down on it. His throat ached and he could feel the bruises there, while his shoulder throbbed from where the bullet had gone through and through. Laura had managed to get hold of his own weapon minutes earlier, turn it on him, and fired it through his body at point blank range. Then there were also the ribs which hurt badly from being kicked around by the two superhuman beings, but he figured they were only bruised and not broken. That was something positive at least. He needed at least one thing positive since his face practically felt numb from the amount of bruising and swelling which was likely happening from the super strong blows he'd received. It didn't help his attempted optimism much that there was blood running from a deep gash on his forehead and into the one eye that didn't actually hurt, making it even more difficult to focus his sight.

The elevator made a musical sound as it reached the designated floor and the shiny metal doors slid open. He took a single step out and the first thing he saw, two blurs of motion locked in what he could only assume was combat by the violent nature of the lightning quick movements. Chris's eyes narrowed in on movement straight ahead down the hallway, at Krauser as he practically threw himself around the corner into the same hall, and low onto the floor.

Bullets that must have been packing quite a punch by the sizable holes left smoldering upon impact, slammed into the wall across from the blonde, muscular man. He watched as Krauser jumped up in time to block a kick from a woman with dark hair and somewhat dark skin, after she appeared in front of him moving at an inhuman speed. To Chris's right, all the way down the corridor, was Ada and Excella. Ada was backing away from the woman and Krauser as they became locked in hand-to-hand combat, pushing the Italian woman along with her.

The entire duration of this observation only took a second or two but it felt to him as though everything was moving in slow motion. He was just a tad stunned to find after getting himself out of one battle, he had somehow managed to walk straight into another.

As the doors slid shut behind him again, the elevator made a second brief musical sound before it began its descent. He didn't do a whole lot of thinking about how that meant someone had called the elevator down because this time the noise from the elevator was heard. The two blurry persons suddenly became clear and solid as both ceased fighting or motion of any kind. The woman fighting Krauser halted her assault to look towards the elevator and so the scarred man did the same. Ada and Excella peeked around the turn in the hallway on Chris's left, where they had been taking cover, and it would have been comical to him if he didn't feel like he was in intense danger.

He felt Wesker's eyes examine him up and down, taking in his poor condition, and he shifted uncomfortably. Everyone remained watching him without saying anything and it wasn't a pleasant thing. With the way Wesker was looking at him, if he didn't know any better, he'd say the blonde looked impressed. The tension in the air was palpable and he decided to be the first to say anything since nobody else was volunteering.

“Uh, hi.”

_Really? That was the best you could come up with?_

“Impossible. Where are Laura and Jonah?” the woman down the hallway from him demanded.

The one who had been moving as quickly as Wesker, a man with a shaved head and black clothing much less suited for combat than the blonde's black leather outfit, answered the woman who appeared to be his partner.

“What? You don't even have faith in your own project, Felicia?”

The man's tone suggested he was teasing and she responded by glowering at him. Chris noticed almost immediately that these two had red-yellow eyes. More Wesker children. Two plus two made four. Four Wesker children were in the building and they seemingly had come to kill him. It figured he would have the misfortune to have not one Wesker child as his enemy, but five. Now five of them were specifically targeting him for death. At least, he presumed Wesker still wanted to kill him. The blonde tyrant had been acting out of character of late but that didn't mean he had changed one bit. Chris reasoned it probably just meant he was plotting out something extra devious and evil to inflict upon him.

“Shut up, Miles. Reveal nothing.”

The man, Miles, licked his lips as he turned his eyes onto Chris. “I wanna play with him.”

He picked up on the suggestion behind those words and winced. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what was so goddamn appealing that people wanted to “do” stuff to him. His concentration shifted to the elevator, watching as the numbers began to light up, beginning at the second basement level and moving upward. He glanced from the elevator to Wesker, hoping he could get across his message with only that look. In case he couldn't, Chris put his back to the wall farthest from Miles, sliding against the flat surface in the opposite direction of the elevator.

Put as much distance between himself and the elevator. Leave Wesker in the middle. That was his goal for the moment.

He'd gotten a few yards from the elevator when Miles and Wesker picked up on why Chris was moving the way he was. The elevator made a ringing noise. Both Wesker children reacted in the same instant. Miles went for him and Wesker predicted the movement, ramming his shoulder into the other man in black. The act drove both men into the wall about a foot from where Chris was standing. The elevator doors slid open.

Laura and Jonah were standing inside as predicted. What he hadn't predicted, was that Laura would be holding a rocket launcher. As soon as the doors opened up, she immediately propped it up over one of her bony shoulder blades.

“Shit!”

Chris was a little surprised the curse had come from Felicia but he didn't let it distract him as the woman disappeared from view. When he caught sight of the rocket launcher about to fire, he dove to the floor. Just at the right time too, as a rocket flew over his head, on down the hallway. It exploded upon impact with the wall and he hoped no one had been in its path.

_Whoah, did I really say that? What do I care if any of these people get hurt or killed?_

Apparently he did care, no matter what had been done to him in the past. Still, Chris told himself it was that he didn't want Ada to get hurt since she appeared to be on the good side, at least most of the time. His head turned back, looking over his shoulder to the elevator where he spotted Jonah loading another rocket into the back of the rocket launcher for Laura, who then shifted to prop it back on her shoulder. Expecting another rocket to come flying at him, he flattened himself down on the floor again.

He needn't have bothered, however, as Wesker seemed ticked off at the projectiles being sent down the hall. At least, Chris assumed he was by the growl that passed through his lips as he straightened up, moving to stand directly in the path of the large weapon as Laura fired. The irritated man snatched the rocket right out of the air before it could hit. For a moment, Wesker battled with the momentum of the rocket and then threw it downward, spun around, and kicked it back toward the elevator.

Chris didn't wait to see what happened to Laura and Jonah. At the sound of the explosion, he clambered to his feet and started to move down the hall without looking back. Felicia's face was expressionless as she made her way towards the elevator, ignoring everyone around her except for Wesker. She seemed very focused on him and little else.

Even though he was able to make it a little farther from the elevator, the force of the rocket exploding still managed to lift him off his feet. He managed to stay upright and keep his balance after a hand fisted in his shirt, yanking him back to prevent him from flying forward. The hand belonged to Wesker and the tyrant spared him a single glance and a single word.

“Go.”

Then the blonde was turning back to Miles. The Wesker child with the shaved head and facial hair was looking infuriated at the interference, for the interior of the elevator shaft was presently consumed in flames. Chris couldn't get a glimpse of either of the other two Wesker children but he wasn't going to wait around to find out if they were dead or not. For once he decided to take Wesker's advice. He ran.


	9. Killers

It was raining. He traveled all the way to Malakoff, France, only to find it was raining here too. Lex Mason glowered at the people traveling past him on the street with their umbrellas and their false sense of purpose. Pathetic creatures humans were. He couldn't even enjoy his solitude of being away from his business and the politics of it all. Not when it was raining so hard. The droplets absolutely pelted down onto his shoulders and boots. Every so often a passerby's gaze would linger just a little too long and Mason was beginning to get fed up with it. In truth he knew it was because he was a tall, rather well-built man, clothed entirely in black. The black attire included black sunglasses which was what kept the casual stranger's eyes on him a little longer.

What kind of person wore sunglasses in the rain? He knew it was what these people were asking themselves. But even though he knew this, inside his mind created a variety of different theories. They were watching him because they knew what he was, something other than human. They were watching him because they could see him for what he was, a killer. Lex recognized that he shouldn't bother thinking these things when he knew them to be ridiculous thoughts. These people had no idea who he was. It didn't matter though. He had fun making them up. Such as right at this very moment.

There was a young woman chattering away on her cell phone. A similarly young man stood near her looking rather bored and unsure of what to do with himself. The situation would read as a possible date gone wrong to any sane person. Mason prided himself on not being like the majority of people out there. He was quite a bit insane and he liked it that way. At the moment he'd concocted the idea that the couple were spies sent to observe him. The man was only pretending to be some random bored guy as the woman reported their findings to superiors. Lex ignored what he knew to be the French word for "mother" leaving the female's mouth as he stalked closer to his prey. This was going to be fun.

He was on the male before the man even noticed he was there. The man flew into the brick wall behind him and dropped like a stack of books to the ground. The foolish woman tried to scream and he stopped that nonsense with a closed hand around her throat. Mason lifted her into the air and squeezed, tighter and tighter. The cell phone had fallen from her hand long ago and her eyes practically bulged from her sockets. A slight sound escaped her throat causing him to tighten his grasp. When he did that, she ceased clawing at his gloved hands draining the life from her. A closer look and he realized he must have snapped her windpipe. She was already dead.

How dare she go and die on him before he'd had time to play with her! It was a pity really. She had been a rather pretty thing. He was getting hard just imagining the sorts of things they could have done together before her life would have ended. A muffled groan caused him to turn around. The male was struggling to regain his footing, appearing disoriented and shaken by the force that had thrown him into a wall. Mason threw the still warm body of the woman so that it fell in the man's line of sight. The young man yelled out in surprise and then horror when he saw his female companion was dead, neck horribly swollen, eyes wide open.

The man forgot about trying to get up when he spotted Lex, and instead tried scrambling backward, away from the man and away from the dead body of his girlfriend. Mason could never understand those who would destroy all of humanity. Those such as his..friend from Africa, who would have the entirety of mankind die to fulfill some kind of desire to evolve the human race. Perhaps such a man was lonely. Wished to somehow save the world by first erasing everything that already existed. Whatever this.. _friend's_ motivations were, it did not mesh with his own ambitions. No it did not.

He couldn't very well have the fun he was having right now if there weren't humans walking around any longer. So ignorant, so powerless, so pathetically easy for the taking. Lex could accept a few million less walking the earth maybe, but he liked how things were. So many moving about their daily routines without a suspicion in the  
world made for a much easier way to claim them. There was no place for enormous, apocalypse-sized ambitions for him in what he wished to do, nor would there ever be. At the moment his ambition was simple. Have as much fun as time allotted for him today. After all, he did have a business to get back to eventually, as well as other affairs to attend to. Of course, Mason did truly have great disdain for mankind. But he would never desire to have all of mankind wiped out, not completely. If there were no longer humans, what else would he play with?

Mason sighed. The human male had run into a wall in the alley they stood in and proceeded to tremble and quake as he stared up at the murderer watching him. This one had wet his pants, he could smell the defecation from where he stood. Lex felt himself go limp down there and sighed again. Maybe there would be a little less fun this time around. He liked his prey to have a little more fight in them, but this..this was simply pathetic and unenjoyable. He would have to settle for something a little less exciting. Rain still pouring all around them, the shot would be muffled. Not that it mattered to him if he was heard or not. It made no difference either way.

One bullet in the leg sent the guy screaming and crying on the wet ground. He curled himself into a ball, rocking back and forth, as if doing so would protect him from the predator eyeing him. Mason drew close and knelt down beside the man. He placed the gun against his stomach and pulled the trigger once. Then he sat back to watch the young male try to stop the gushing blood and spilling guts escaping from the horrific wound in his gut. It would take him a good while to bleed out and he would be there to watch every last second of this human's last moments. For the first time that day, Mason smiled.

/

They made it outside under the aid of Excella's hired guards for the building. By that, Chris meant the guards were there to be slaughtered by the one Wesker child who had managed to get past Wesker. And yes, Felicia was indeed angry. He watched her practically eviscerate one of the guards, the entire time her eyes on him, and he made himself run faster.

"Chris! This way!"

He turned toward the sound of Ada's voice and saw a helicopter in the distance heading in their direction. Ada was standing several yards off with Excella at her side. The Italian woman had a radio to her lips and she was speaking into it. It was highly probable she was communicating with the pilot of the chopper and had called it to their location in the first place. At the moment, Chris had to admit he wanted to kiss the woman for securing them a way out of this..fire.

The building ripped apart in an explosion of flame and debris and he felt himself once again torn off his feet from the force of the blast. His close proximity to the building didn't help any either and he heard himself cry out from the pain suddenly spreading across his body like its own fire.

He couldn't bring himself to get up or even to move at all. The bullet wound in his shoulder was bleeding worse than before. The only positive thing he had to say about it was that it had been a through and through shot so there was no bullet stuck inside of him. Still, it was difficult to see it as a big positive when the hole in him was bleeding so profusely. From his fall to the concrete his pained ribs were hurting him even more and he'd scuffed up his legs and arms.

At least he had the knee and arm pads to save that bit of skin. Load of good it was doing him now though. Maybe he should have worn a helmet too because his face had also literally skidded against the cement along with the rest of him. One of his eyes was completely swollen shut by now, the other felt irritated and heavy, likely bruised, bloodshot, or both. Then there was the fact that the pounding in his head made him feel like he'd cracked his skull wide open. Or maybe it was the blood pooling around his head. Fuck, had he given himself a concussion? He couldn't remember if he had passed out at all or not.

Chris heard a scream somewhere above the noise of his throbbing brain. He tried to lift his head to see what was going on but failed. The explosion had taken what little energy he'd had left in him. The BSAA agent felt himself being dragged by the arm but when an actual whining sound escaped from his mouth, the grip released his arm and a soft hand lifted his chin to slant upward slightly. It was Ada and she looked really concerned.

"Chris, we have to get away from the building. It's falling apart. The helicopter isn't far; we have to go. Can you walk?"

He knew he couldn't. Not without putting his body through a tremendous amount of pain. But he hadn't survived continuous life and death situations by giving up and not pushing past his limits. Chris drew himself up onto one knee and separated his face from Ada's hand.

"A little help?" he asked her, forcing a slight smile so she wouldn't feel so worried about his health.

It seemed to work because she relaxed visibly and held out a hand to get him to his feet. Once standing, he spotted what he didn't want to see. Felicia was fighting Krauser again, dangerously close to the collapsing building, and Excella was looking upset over the delay in their departure. That was actually the most humorous part about this whole disaster of a day. The perfectly manicured female was probably more worried about her schedule than she was about anything else happening.

Ada released his arm abruptly and went for her gun, drawing it and shooting in one smooth motion. Chris forced his body to spin around and saw what she had. Emerging from the flaming building were Wesker and Miles, still locked in a battle of wills. Behind them came Jonah and Laura, and they were who Ada was firing upon.

The two looked terrible and that was putting it nicely. They were almost entirely covered in second and third degree burns and yet were able to walk upright and calm. After Laura took a bullet to the stomach from Ada's gun, she and Jonah stopped short and exchanged glances with one another. Almost in sync with each other, the two looked over at Miles and then Felicia. Finally they looked back at Chris. Their combined staring did nothing to put him at ease but he could see one thing from their looks. They were going to leave. They were going to go away, at least for now.

He was right. About as soon as he'd had the thought, Jonah, followed by Laura, began to retreat. Away from the burning building and away from him and Ada.

"Miles! Felicia! Evacuate!" Jonah called out to his allies.

Then he took off running with Laura at his heels. Chris found he very strongly disliked that Laura could run even with a bullet to the gut. All these superhuman beings running around made it so unfair. The unfairness doubled in that the majority of them seemed to be taking a special interest in him.

Why? He couldn't see the appeal. He was just another soldier. Chris blamed Wesker. It always came back to that man. The blonde tyrant's obsession with destroying his soul was what was driving these crazies after him. How did he get himself stuck in these crazy situations?

He limped alongside Ada toward the chopper. He hadn't even made it three feet before he dropped down flat again. Ada called out his name in surprise as he collapsed. The next second she was urging him not to move as he immediately attempted to get back on his feet. Then suddenly he was on his feet but he hadn't done it himself.

Someone was holding him up by the shoulders and arms. It was Krauser and as soon as Chris realized this he tried to wriggle his way free from the man's grasp. The task proved impossible as the other was incredibly strong, and then Wesker was there telling him to stop resisting. The agent responded by using the last of his strength to kick the taller man in front of him in the shins.

Unfortunately, he was only rewarded with a laugh from Wesker as the blonde grabbed hold of his hand which was forming into a fist. _The better to hit the mutated bastard with..._ He thought to himself. As if his former tormentor touching him wasn't bad enough, the muscular soldier chose that moment to lean in close to Chris's ear, lips practically brushing against his earlobe as he whispered to him.

"Ah, just like old times, hm Chris? Me behind you, right?"

"Get-the-fuck-away from me!" he yelled, and tried to free himself.

Only when Wesker gestured for him to release Chris did Krauser do it, and the man wore an annoyingly big grin on his face even in doing so. It drove the BSAA agent up a wall to see it. He felt a panic attack coming on and his legs gave out, dropping him to his knees. Taking in gulps of air and letting it out slowly in order to relax himself, he fought against this uncharacteristic situation for him. He vaguely heard Krauser saying something and then a female voice cut him off. Chris ceased his breathing to hear what she had to say because it was shocking who had come to his defense.

"Leave him alone. Can you not see you are frightening him? Just keep your distance you disgusting monstrosity!"

When Excella finished her rant she positioned herself between Chris and his past attacker, arms crossed against her chest. He couldn't understand why Excella of all people would try to protect him. Then again, he reasoned, how well did he actually know the Tricell CEO? He managed himself back to a standing position once more and glanced at her. Her back was to him as she was facing Krauser, but he spoke to her despite this.

"It's okay. I've got this handled Excella," he assured the woman who was around a decade younger than him.

There was no need for her to get killed on his account, no matter what sort of evil corporation she was mixed up with.

"Do not try to be some kind of hero, Chris Redfield. I can see you barely able to stand on two feet. You will be silent and let me do this for you."

Even though he couldn't comprehend what exactly was going on with the wealthy woman unveiling she actually had at least one decent bone in her body, he didn't really have much choice. He knew she was right. He could already feel his legs trembling, wanting to give out on him from pure exhaustion and excessive bleeding. Wesker came over to Chris and placed one of his arms over his shoulder. Surprising him once again, Excella moved under him to take the other arm so that between her and Wesker, they were supporting his weight. He was too tired to argue about it.

Krauser made a disgruntled noise and backed away as the three moved past him towards the helicopter awaiting their boarding. Ada was already at the aircraft and she climbed in the back as they drew nearer. She seemed incapable of meeting Chris's eye as he tried to catch hers, to try and read her. Her not wanting to look at him didn't sit well. People who did that were generally hiding something. He let himself be hoisted into the chopper and made himself work his body enough to take a seat beside the Asian woman sitting quietly. Chris felt he'd been rather polite to wait this long before passing out, because that was exactly what he did after his back had hardly hit the wall of the helicopter.

/

Kincaid was a man of habit and simple tastes. He appreciated fine wine and exquisite desserts. He dressed in the same identical black suits and ties each and every day. His choice in weapons could be considered quite simple as well. He carried probably far more weapons than would be advised, but even so, he was quick. Quick and clean, that was how his boss preferred it. One of his duties was to take care of the messes Mr. Mason left behind.

Messes becoming more frequent in occurrence much to Kincaid's chagrin. He knew the business and how it worked and he knew someone was bound to notice eventually. The police could be blind at times but they weren't entirely stupid. They would make connections. And there were also those outside of the police, other parties that might find interest in locating Mr. Mason.

The rain was letting up by the time he arrived on the street he'd been ordered to go for a job. Dawn was beginning to creep through the clouds and the early morning joggers or shoppers would be out and about soon. It wouldn't be a problem for him. It never was. He could have any area cleaned in twenty minutes or less.

Kincaid walked around the corner into the alley he'd been directed to and surveyed the area. Two bodies, massive blood loss by one. Hm..the scene of blood and gore wasn't as bad as past scenes he'd had to clean up for his boss. He didn't waste any time getting to work. After twelve minutes he was done and no trace of evidence could be uncovered by the police or anyone else.

His cell phone rang. He finished stowing the last of the plastic garbage bags into the back of his black Ford Explorer and leaned against the side of the vehicle. After removing red-stained latex gloves and throwing them in the trunk too, he reached into his suit jacket and located his cell phone. A quick glance at the screen to see who was calling him and then he was flipping the device open.

"Sir."

 _"Progress report?"_ the voice on the other end of the phone asked, though it came out as more of a command for a response than anything else.

"Clean up is complete. And I've learned where that aircraft you were looking for has landed during the last few hours."

_"How?"_

"An inside source." Kincaid answered. "The source was clear the craft's destination would be temporary. The passengers on board the plane could already be on the move to somewhere else. Someplace inside the United States seems highly probable. My source told me the target has a facility set up that is already active."

 _"And where did the plane touch down?"_ questioned Mason from the other end of the line.

Kincaid smiled even though he knew his boss wasn't there to see it. "The location is in France, not too far from our own location. Just an hour ago I pulled live feed from the Internet of a building that exploded for indeterminate reasons. The building belonged to Tricell."

_"Interesting..so it is very likely the CEO of the African division survived and is accompanying the target."_

"Yes sir. It seems she is continuing to provide financial support for the target's experiments."

_"Return to me. We're going mobile again. I've found our next target. After we're done here, we move on to America."_

Kincaid heard the click as the line went dead. His boss was certainly always one to be to the point and definitely not one for the small talk. Unless he'd located a particularly fascinating prey. Lex Mason was one to enjoy talks with those he was hunting. He seemed to get a certain thrill out of toying with his victims and the finely suited man had to admit in some regards, his boss hit the ideal serial killer role right on the nose. He didn't get to decide how his boss chose to behave though. He cleaned up the evidence left behind and did so without a word either way. Who was he to take the moral high ground? Especially when his own past was not one he would ever favor getting out to anyone.

He was known by the name of Kincaid and only Kincaid. No one would ever know the name he was born with, the identities of his birth parents, or even the place he was born. It wasn't important. He had no friends, no family, no life of his own. Not any more. In his line of employment, he got the job done or he didn't get paid. It was firmly understood by his current employer, Mr. Mason, and the arrangement worked well for the both of them.

Kincaid noticed a woman of a rather advanced age peeking out from behind the curtain of her small brownstone home for the fourth time, watching him with a mixture of fear and suspicion. He narrowed his eyes at the old lady and the curtain swished back into place again. It was probable she hadn't seen something that would be damaging to him. Even if she contacted the local authorities, it would never lead to anything. It never did. He was very good at his job.

Knowing this didn't matter, because the gun-for-hire didn't deal in probabilities whatsoever. He fastened a suppressor onto the end of his primary handgun and gave a small sigh as he headed across the street to the brownstone. It seemed like his work was never quite finished.


	10. Remnants of the Past

The gentle and steady rhythm of a _beep, beep, beep,_ was the first sign telling him he wasn't where he'd last remembered being. He wasn't in a helicopter any longer. Instead of a hard metal seat, he could feel soft sheets beneath him. Another thing, far more important in his opinion, was that he didn't hurt any more. And he had the use of both eyes back! Chris laid a flat palm against his once swollen eye just to be sure. It felt okay. He pushed himself up onto elbows and surveyed his surroundings. A hospital room was where he was. For the first time he noticed he was hooked up to an IV, sensors placed on his chest and on a finger, attached to several monitors displaying his vitals. A thin sheet covered his body which was clothed in a simple hospital gown.

He could feel the bandages wrapped tightly around his ribs. With movement the ribs felt rather sore, otherwise they didn't hurt much. Chris shifted on the bed. He slid the sheet partially over to get a look at the leg that he remembered getting bitten pretty bad, by one of the infected dogs. The bite wound was almost little more than a scar now, having entered the later stages of the healing process. He moved the hand from his leg to the side of his forehead where there'd been the injury that had taken a lot of blood out of him. Fingers felt the rough texture of stitches. He traced them with his fingers, counting eight of them. Finally, Chris moved on to where he knew the worst injury to be. His shoulder, where he'd gotten shot at point blank range. There was a thick patch taped over the wound and no signs of bleeding through.

Well, it looked like he hadn't given himself a concussion. No, instead he'd managed to put himself into a coma instead. He could tell a fair amount of time had passed in order for his various wounds to be so far on the mend. It was hard to ignore the growth of facial hair on his face as well. Several weeks must have gone by at the very least, if not more. Chris didn't feel like sitting around. He felt like he had to see the condition he was in with his own eyes. He pulled the sensors off, calmly ignoring the frantic sounds the machines all around began to make immediately. After removing the IV with a sharp intake of breath at the brief moment of discomfort that came with the action, he slid off the bed. He took it slow, protesting and trembling legs taking him over to a mirror on the wall at the other side of the room.

To say he looked good would be an outright lie. To say he looked..tired, would be closer to the truth. Both eyes were darkened by the long period of time he'd been unconscious most probably. There were still faint markings around his throat from when the BSAA agent had gotten strangled and lifted off the ground by superhuman psychopaths, set on killing him apparently. A female nurse, followed quickly by a female doctor, burst into the room in a hurry. They halted in their tracks upon discovering their patient was not in fact crashing and had removed the equipment on his own. He turned toward the doctor as the nurse moved over to take care of the wailing machines.

"Where am I? How long have I been here?"

"You're in Sioux Falls, sir. Didn't you know that?" There was surprise in her voice as she walked to the end of the bed Chris had recently been occupying. She removed a clipboard from the attached folder. "As for how long, according to your chart you were admitted three weeks ago. Ah yes, I remember you now. Your brother and his girlfriend checked you in."

"M-my brother?"

"Ah.." Her eyes lowered to the paper in front of her. "Yes, your brother Jack and his girlfriend Ada."

"Oh, right, Jack and Ada. Yeah, okay." Chris couldn't really think of anything else to say to that.

The doctor lowered the chart. "I'm Dr. Philsteen, Mr. Ashford. Could you tell me what happened to you? Your brother didn't seem to know. He said he found you lying on the street badly injured. Your brother then left the hospital before I could speak with him to get more information. Do you know why he would do that?"

Ashford? That had to have been Krauser's doing. After all, the man was infected with the Veronica virus, created by the Ashford family in secret while Oswald E. Spencer had been busy with his own plans. It was all really very ridiculous in Chris's opinion.

"Ah, no. My brother's never been one to accept responsibility," he fabricated quickly as to why someone who was supposed to be his brother would just up and leave him in a hospital. Meeting her eyes to make it seem as though he was telling the truth, he added, "I don't really remember what happened to me. How I got like this."

Dr. Philsteen stared at him for a long moment and then nodded curtly. "Alright, that's okay. I would prefer for you to lie back down but you don't seem like the type who would listen. That's fine then, stand there. That being said, you need to wait here, okay? The police are going to want to come and speak with you. In any case where a firearm is involved, the police must be notified and they already came by once. Now that you're awake they'll want to talk to you. You never know, maybe you'll remember something about what happened."

"Um, okay. Right. Sounds good."

The nurse and doctor exchanged glances that were possibly significant but Chris ignored them. His mind was busy contemplating how he was going to get out of there without being seen. As soon as they left him alone, that was exactly what he did.

He snuck out, left arm positioned against his left side to move the injured parts (most importantly the gunshot wound area) as little as possible. Not managing to be seen by a single soul all the way down to the first floor reception area felt like quite the impressive achievement to him. Which made him feel pretty unimpressive when he actually contemplated the thought for a little longer. About a month gone by and he already missed being on a mission. Because at least when he was on a mission for the BSAA, he felt like he had a purpose, something to keep his focus on. It was what he needed to keep himself going.

And what was going on lately? At the rate he kept finding himself getting tortured, beaten, and shot, he might as well be on the job. Which he wasn't, technically. Yup, he wasn't even getting paid for the shit he was being put through.

His organization had probably branded him as officially MIA. As for Jill Valentine or Sheva Alomar? It was anybody's guess what happened to them after they'd sabotaged the missiles Wesker meant to launch into the atmosphere to infect the entire world with Uroboros. He wasn't too concerned for their safety. The two women were strong and knew how to take care of themselves. Heck, they'd each saved his life a couple times in the past.

But it was the knowledge that they cared about him and his safety which concerned him. He hoped they weren't putting themselves in any danger if they were out there somewhere looking for him. He held on to a hope that they'd returned themselves to BSAA headquarters to give their report on the mission Sheva and him had been assigned. It would be big news for everyone in the organization when they found out Jill was still alive too. Of course, with one Chris Redfield missing in her place, it might dampen the celebration a bit...

Chris flattened himself against the wall as a pair of orderlies walked by, careful not to jostle his ribs much. That was when he spotted the employees only room and headed inside. Conveniently an employee had left a cart of fresh scrubs by the door. He snatched a pair of blue scrubs that looked about his size out of the cart and hurried to change into them. They fit well enough and he didn't waste any more time in a place more befitting of someone other than him.

After vacating the hospital building, he made his way down the street. Dr. Philsteen had revealed he was in Sioux Falls. What was he doing in South Dakota? There was a reason. There always was when it involved Wesker. The insane blonde tyrant was a man with a plan who didn't know how to give up. He supposed the man's narcissistic, sadistic, and just plain evil tendencies pretty much helped him along in his ploys which seemed to end with innocent people dying.

The first thing he knew he should do was get to a phone and make contact with his superiors in the BSAA. Except, if he did that they would send other members out to retrieve him. If that happened there would be more lives in danger. And the agent knew he was indeed in danger still. A fair portion of the Wesker children project survivors were out to get him and it appeared Krauser and Ada had abandoned him at the hospital. Chris knew three other things that he had to factor in to reexamine his predicament. He had been in a coma for three weeks, he was in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, for a reason, and there was no telling if Krauser or Ada would come looking for him at the hospital. He wasn't about to wait around to find out.

He quickened his pace, moving as quickly as possible considering the injuries he was continuing to deal with for the time being. It was growing dark when he made it to the outskirts of the town. Something which remained true about Wesker was that he often kept his business right outside of populated areas. All the better to sneak one or two for experimentation, right? His time in Africa had not been very long ago and so he had not forgotten the horror of what became of the inhabitants there. Ten years gone by, and yet it did not feel so long since the incident in Raccoon City and the nightmarish mansion hidden away in the forest beyond the city either.

What was he thinking? Was he really going looking for proof of the existence of a new facility which he strongly suspected Wesker of setting up? He should be getting far, far away from this place and any place where the possibility of running into his former captain was at an all time high. But while he knew the best thing for his own health was to get as far from where he was now as he could, he couldn't do that. As an agent of the BSAA, it was his duty to find and investigate any illegal activities, especially those which could be construed as terrorism of a biological nature.

As the tall hospital building disappeared entirely from view, Chris thought over how he was to go about finding the facility which he very much suspected existed somewhere in this town. No, not in this town, but outside of it. That was the most likely location. It was Umbrella's style; it was Wesker's style.

The afternoon light did little to hide him from prying eyes and he found himself gathering an increasing number of stares. He had to admit, he must look quite a sight in bare feet, blue hospital scrubs, and his hair and face were probably looking pretty scruffy after weeks of neglect. The BSAA agent decided he had to do something to at least make it appear he could possibly be an employee for the hospital. That way nobody would get the idea in their heads to call the police or an ambulance to deal with him. The last thing he needed was attention from some hapless do-gooders who really had no clue about him or the predicament he was in.

Eyes scanning the buildings on the street around him, he spotted a gas station and headed on inside. After ensuring the guy behind the counter was occupied with a couple of customers, he snatched a pack of razors and some shaving cream off a shelf. Chris grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler, checked where the employee's attention was at, and then moved into the bathroom. Locking the door behind him, he set to work ridding himself of the facial hair that had come to cover his face in his weeks of unconsciousness. When he was finished, he left the razors and the shaving can in the sink, and downed the water in one go. He chucked the empty bottle into the trash receptacle and exited both the bathroom and the gas station. Now he just needed something for his feet.

Chris wasn't sure how he was going to go about getting footwear and the longer he thought on it, the more he realized it would be a good plan to get himself a weapon as well. Especially if he was planning on walking right into a building where possible experimentation was happening. Two blocks up and he was staring across the street at a gun shop. It felt lucky to him but he didn't let it go to his head at all. His luck didn't seem to ever last long. Glancing both ways, he jogged across the street, really wishing he had some shoes on as the hot road burned his feet. He ducked into the shop, a man, the owner perhaps, looked up from some sort of paperwork. His mild gaze shifted to one of suspicion upon taking in his visitor's appearance. Namely, the bare feet.

“Lose your shoes, buddy?”

“Uh..yeah. Do you happen to sell any here?”

The man pointed straight ahead of himself, to Chris's right. He glanced that way and found a single shelf with a few types of boots lined up. He gave the guy a quick thanks and walked over, kneeling down and grabbing the first pair he saw that looked close to his size. Boots in hand, he moved to the counter and placed them on top in front of the man. Then he lowered his gaze to the glass case full of weapons, eyes landing on the Samurai Edge 9mm Beretta model among all the other guns. Exactly his kind of gun. However, there was the manner of going about retrieving said gun.

“There's a waiting period for firearms, right?” Chris asked, fully aware there was one.

He watched the guy eye him slowly for a lengthy couple of seconds before setting down his pen and regarding him more closely. “You got a concealed weapon permit?”

“No.”

“Then it's a 48 hour waiting period, no exceptions.”

His gaze returned to the papers he was looking over and Chris sighed inside. This was going to take a tad more pressing than he'd thought. He decided there was no point in avoiding the matter. “I'd like to see the Samurai Edge.”

This grabbed the employee's attention. “You know about guns?”

He couldn't keep the smile off his face. “A little.”

The man reached around for his keys and unlocked the case on his side, taking great care as he removed the weapon from its resting place and set it on the countertop in front of them. He grabbed a clip of ammo from one of the cases behind him and placed it near the gun.

“Takes 9mm rounds. Now you should be aware, the price is considerable for this particular handgun. The gun was created by a man who custom designed the model. It was for some sort of special law enforcement team or something in the Midwest, over a decade ago. He only made a certain number and so this is an incredibly rare gun.” the guy looked him up and down for the second time since he came into the shop. “Are you sure you can afford a gun like this?”

“Kendo.”

“Excuse me?”

“Joseph Kendo. He's the man who designed the weapon. I'll take the gun. Paperwork?”

He seemed to have left the other man speechless and probably even more suspicious with such knowledge. Suspicious or not, the man must not have been used to being taken advantage of, because he said he would go get the papers for him to fill out and then disappeared into the back. Only one last glance at Chris standing there by the counter betrayed the slight concern he felt leaving him alone. But it was slight, and he left him out of sight. He had always been a good guy and hated that he had to rip this guy off. There wasn't another option for him right now though, not if Wesker was up to his old tricks. He had to find and stop him, or this town could end up like Raccoon City one day.

There wasn't any hesitation when he thought about something like that happening. He dropped the shoes onto the ground and shoved his feet into them. He grabbed the gun, grabbed the ammo clip, and after sweeping the store with his eyes one more time, he took a rather sizeable sheathed knife off one of the shelves. It was the best he could do with the time he had. If he had his way, he would be fully equipped with combat gear, but naturally, there was no possibility of that right now. Chris hurried out of the shop before the guy could make it back to find one of his more prized guns being stolen, among other items.

Once outside, he hid the weapons in his boots, which admittedly, were a few sizes bigger than his actual shoe size. He then proceeded to run the best he could in such boots, going several blocks to put some distance between himself and the store he'd just robbed. Yes, robbed. Breaking the law..not good.

His eye caught on to something that caused all feelings of guilt to fall away and be forgotten. A newspaper dated four days ago was laying on the sidewalk with a headline which was eerily familiar to him.

 _“Family disappears: Police suspect animal attack.”_ He read further, at the actual article itself. _“A family of four was discovered missing after a family friend came by for a scheduled visit Wednesday evening. The family resided in a cabin in the Western section of the woods just outside the city. A window was broken and blood trails were left behind, leaving the police to believe the home might have been the scene of a quadruple homicide at first. Other evidence uncovered has left the police now thinking a pack of wild dogs may in fact be the ones responsible and urge residents...”_

Chris ceased reading mid-sentence and lifted his gaze until he spotted the tree line of the woods not far away. He dropped the paper and took off running. As soon as he hit the trees, he had his gun out and increased his speed. It was happening all over again. It couldn't be. It couldn't be happening again. His anger rose as he went.

Too many people, too many people were dying over such stupid reasons. So other men could become rich. So other men could unleash weapons in the form of monsters to destroy their enemies or some dream of grandeur. It was sick and twisted and..wrong. The agent lost track of how long he'd been running but skidded to a halt on the grass when he saw something that stole the remains of his breath away.

A mansion. There was a mansion directly ahead of him in a large clearing of the woods. No way was this coincidence. Wesker must have done it. Why, Chris didn't know. The guy had quite the ego so maybe this was his way of memorializing the night he'd turned into the monster he was. At least, the night he'd changed to look like the monster he was on the outside with those freaky eyes.

He searched around, the idea of being taken by surprise and mauled to death by a couple of skinless dogs not sounding appealing to him in the least. Because he knew it was what had killed those people. Whether the dogs had escaped the compound or been purposely let out, remained to be seen. Honestly, either way it was a horrible thing, and there was only one objective in mind as he covered the remaining distance to the front door of the mansion. He was going to blow the place to oblivion.


	11. Survivor

The place was styled after the mansion designed by Trevor all right. However, there were some major differences. For one, the place had definitely been built in more recent days. It had an older style of décor but there were up-to-date items here and there which clued him in on the time-frame it was built. Also, as he scanned the foyer area just inside the front entrance, he could see Umbrella did not care to conceal that this place was theirs. Or rather, that it had once been theirs. The red and white logo of the corporation was all over the place, most prominently featuring on the white tile floor beneath his feet.

Chris jogged across the room to the walkway he knew would be behind the stairs. There was a walkway but there was no gated double doors like there had been in Trevor's mansion. There was no dungeon-esque corridor to explore. Instead, a few pieces of two-by-four were nailed to the wall, obviously covering something.

Curiosity piqued, he pulled at the wood pieces until they gave and then ripped them from the wall. Dumping them onto the floor, he stared at what they had been hiding and couldn't believe his eyes. There, right in front of him, was a device that he clearly recognized as a control panel for a self-destruct system. Whoever had built the place must have made a massive error by putting such a device so near to an entryway. Knowing Umbrella, he doubted the one to do the construction had met a very pleasant end.

He wasn't about to waste his good fortune. After surveying the device, he quickly set to work figuring out the proper way to set the thing off. A password prompt appeared on the screen and he stared blankly at it. Well crap, how was he supposed to figure out the password? His mind raced as he tried to figure out the possibilities. He didn't know if Wesker bothered with security here. He would suspect no judging by the Cerberus dogs running loose if the newspaper article was any indication. Now that he thought about Wesker, was he even certain that tyrant was the one running this place? He preferred not to find out if he had his way.

Besides, security or not, he didn't think it was a good idea to linger in a place like this.

Password..password.. Password and Umbrella... Could it be, that the password was created by the same man foolish enough to place the device in such an awful location? A smile creased his face and then he was entering a password. _Sir Oswald E. Spencer_. The computer beeped and the red light on it switched to green. All right, time to get out before someone caught on to what he had done.

He was making his way across the mansion's foyer, having walked around from the backside of the stairs. Almost halfway to the front doors when his positive experience was spoiled. A masculine voice coming from behind made him pause.

“Agent Redfield, fancy meeting you here.”

He could hear footsteps coming leisurely down the stairs. He stood still, listening. There was a possibility of a second pair of footsteps descending the stairs meaning at least two people were nearing his position in the foyer, where he stood at its center.

“What is this? Chris Redfield left speechless? Perhaps we surprised him as much as he surprised us, hm?”

These words came from a second male voice, confirming Chris's suspicions that there were two men on the staircase. The agent turned around and faced what he had to face.

One of the two reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped there, while the other came to a stop a few steps above that. Both men were about the same height, a little over six feet. The first wore a black Armani suit with a white silk, dress shirt underneath, and sunglasses. The other wore dark blue jeans, dark boots, a red v-necked t-shirt, a black jacket, and a red baseball cap pulled low over his face. The disguises did little to prevent him from recognizing them after his last encounter with the two.

Chris raised the handgun he'd rather illegally acquired during his travel to the mansion, and aimed it at the one closest to him by the bottom of the stairs, the one in the expensive suit. He tried very hard to pretend he was wearing more than mere hospital scrubs as he took in the two Wesker children standing before him.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Isn't it obvious?” the one in the baseball cap began, coming down the last few steps, a hand reaching up to rest on the brim of his cap, tugging it further over his face. He was the second speaker Chris had heard before facing them. “You've come because of rumors biological weapons are being created in the basement of this mansion. And we've come to find if there is anything worth finding.”

Chris froze, arms still extended with his gun pointed at the man in the suit, though his eyes were on the one with the jacket and cap speaking to him. Jonah, he recalled the Wesker child's name being Jonah.

The one in the suit and sunglasses gave him a half smile and took a couple of steps toward him. He yelled for him to stay where he was. The man's smile widened.

“We never thought you would be the one thing worth finding here, _Christopher_.”

The way Miles used his full name, extending the word, somehow was able to bring chills throughout his entire body. Not only that, but the cold realization he was coming to. The Wesker children, Jonah and Miles, finding this compound of Wesker's so quickly. He didn't believe in coincidences. Something was up here. Something wasn't right.

Jonah removed his cap and Miles followed his companion's lead, removing his dark sunglasses and putting them into an inside pocket of his suit. Now two pairs of red and yellow eyes stared back at him. Chris cursed in his own mind about his curiosity and sense of what was right bringing him here. He had probably just walked himself into his own place of death. There wasn't anything he could do about running into the two Wesker children now, so he remembered who he was supposed to be. He was a BSAA agent charged with the duty to protect the innocent, and he always would see his duty through.

Jonah took a step closer and Chris didn't hesitate, he opened fire.

The man, or rather the superhuman being, became a black and red blur as he avoided the bullets with relative ease. Meanwhile, Miles moved on him from the right, not even bothering to use speed as he walked to him. The BSAA agent shifted his gun's aim to that one and that was when Miles kicked in his speed and suddenly appeared in front of him. An elbow caught him in the throat and before he could do more than gag, his opponent kneed him in the stomach and then spun and kicked him in the chest. Chris flew back into the far wall with a resounding smack.

He was punched, kicked, and thrown around repeatedly. He may have survived two of them in a previous encounter, but then at least he had been equipped with combat gear. At this moment, he was no match for even one superhuman being by himself, let alone a match against two of them in his current condition. Yet the agent continued to get back to his feet despite the screaming protests his bruised, bloody, and sore body was giving him.

Chris was shooting at Miles when Jonah kicked him in the back from behind, grabbing his upper left arm and twisting it at the shoulder. He cried out as he felt his shoulder being pulled out of its socket, but then regained his composure and continued firing at the other one, keeping the second monster at bay. A moment later, he ducked to avoid a punch from Jonah and only accomplished allowing Miles to reach him for it.

Several powerful punches to his stomach caused him to double over and spit up specks of blood. They didn't allow him to recover. Miles followed up the punches by bringing the heel of his shoe down on Chris's back. His gun went flying across the floor. The man ran a hand over his shaved head and it reminded the agent so much of Wesker and the way the blonde smoothed his own hair down, that a surge of adrenaline shot through his system. He sprang to his feet and actually managed to land a hit to Miles's jaw because he had the element of surprise.

The second wind didn't last long when Jonah grabbed his loose-fitting scrub top, spun him around by it so they were face to face, and lifted him up with an iron clad grasp around the throat. Chris struggled weakly with his right hand, the other arm hanging limp by his side as it remained ripped from the socket.

“Hm..only human...” Jonah muttered, more to himself than anything.

The BSAA agent gasped as the grip around his neck tightened and his face began to grow red from lack of oxygen, muscles tightening in his neck as his body struggled to find a way to breathe unsuccessfully. Somehow, he found the strength to reach down and unsheath the combat knife he carried. The knife that had been tucked away into the boots he'd taken for his otherwise bare feet. Knife retrieved, he jabbed it into Jonah's outstretched arm.

With a growl, the superhuman being released his hold and Chris toppled to the floor. When he managed to his feet, he staggered away from where he thought Jonah still was and stood ready to fight, only to hear the sound of a gun being cocked. He turned around in all the glory of his torn and bloodied appearance, to find Jonah standing a mere yard or two away with a handgun trained on his face. It was _his_ gun.

He felt Miles press up close against his back with the knife that had once been stabbed into Jonah's arm tracing along the side of his throat. The man whispered something into his ear. Something that scared him because he knew if they wanted to, they could succeed in following through easily and he wouldn't be able to do a damn thing to stop them.

Terrified he meant his words and would try it, Chris threw an elbow back, smacking into his collarbone. Miles started, accidentally cutting him on the side of his neck, and then quite intentionally stabbed the blade into his back, piercing just above the right shoulder blade. He stumbled and fell to one knee, blood leaking from the sides of his mouth. He was in too much pain to tell if he'd bitten down on something inside his mouth to cause the bleeding, or if he was bleeding internally and it was starting to leak out.

The knife was yanked out and plunged into his lower right thigh, the superhuman then backing off. After determining going to the ground wouldn't ease his injuries any, he forced himself to stand. Despite the blade in his leg, he found himself once again looking down the barrel of his own gun in Jonah's hand.

The brown-blonde haired tyrant stared at him with what could only be described as a mixture of curiosity and pity. “Why?”

“Why what?” he managed to get out, his voice strained from having been hit, strangled, and cut in the throat.

“Why do you continue to get to your feet?” Jonah questioned. “Why not stay down and die? It would be much less painful than continuing to endure our torment. Your mission has failed. Accept that and give up. You cannot stop Albert Wesker from conducting his experiments, you cannot possibly hope to win against the two of us, and you most certainly will not succeed in ridding the world of its evil as you so pointlessly try. It's over, you've lost.”

Chris gave him a weak smile, watching as Miles came to stand beside his partner. “Failed? I've never failed a mission. I always somehow make it back alive. For all your super abilities or whatever you might call what you are capable of doing, the two of you sure aren't too smart. The Wesker I know best would have seen this coming at the start of the fight.”

Miles's gaze narrowed. “Seen what?”

“I set the self-destruct system almost 15 minutes ago. And time's just about up. I kept you distracted. Do you see now? I've already accomplished my mission to stop Wesker. It's sure to stop you..at least for now. So that means you lose.”

When Jonah fired two bullets, one into each of his upper thighs, he laughed at them. So much injury he was numbing and besides, he didn't care what happened to him now. He'd won. The mansion which undoubtedly held a bio-weapons laboratory was about to go up in flames. In his last moments, he had managed to stop Albert goddamn Wesker one last time.

The first explosion shook the entire mansion but the BSAA agent's eyes were on the weapon in Jonah's hand. He was about to shoot him again and this time he knew it would be fatal.

He waited for death to claim him but then a black blur swept past and an impossibility engaged the two superhumans in combat. There wasn't time to look closer to see if he was seeing clearly because then a man stepped in front of him, blocking his view. The man was even more buff than Chris, blonde hair, blue eyes, a scarred face, and combat clothing. The appearance echoed that he was a soldier. To him, it echoed that he was Jack Krauser.

“Can you walk?” the man asked in a gruff voice.

He gave him one of his very best glares. Krauser rolled his eyes at the reaction he'd elicited.

“Hi, reality, have we met? Can you walk? The building _is_ exploding around us.”

Chris lowered his gaze to his bloody legs and then back to the man. One who he loathed with a passion. But he knew there wasn't much choice in what he would say for an answer. “With help...”

Immediately, Krauser lifted his good arm and placed it over his shoulder, then placed the other on his side to keep him held steady.

“Let's move.”

They did. They made it to the front doors, Krauser momentarily releasing him to reach out and open the door.. And Chris caught a shotgun blast in the side. The power of the ammo in the gun sent him flying back and he hit the ground hard. He began to scream. He couldn't stop it. He'd never felt so much pain in his life. It felt like his whole goddamn side was on fire.

The agony was all he could concentrate on now. Vaguely, he saw a man in black combat gear, wearing a gas mask and carrying an assault rifle. This man mowed down the three men who'd been outside the doors waiting to ambush them, with a spray of bullets. The men had likely been hired security of Wesker's, finally come to see what was happening in the mansion they'd been charged with guarding.

He wondered briefly, if the guards ever could have foreseen that they would, or could for that matter, be murdered by another who was in all likelihood working for the same boss. The man said something to Krauser he didn't quite catch, and heard the scarred man call him hunk. Hunk? HUNK. Why did he think he'd seen those four letters together in documents several times in all caps before...?

It seemed an odd thing to call someone, but he didn't dwell on it because fresh waves of pain swept through his body. Krauser picked him up and carried him out the doors with an arm hooked under his knees, the other arm supporting his back. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he lost all awareness.

The loss of consciousness must have been brief because when he next opened his eyes, he could still see the mansion. He cursed loudly and screamed for a God he couldn't bring himself to believe in any more, after all that had happened in his life. The agent became aware he was being carried up a short flight of steps and realized this HUNK , who was leading the way in front of them, had led them onto a large plane.

They moved through the aisle, along empty seats, and to the rear where a long desk was attached to the back wall. HUNK shoved random papers and objects that were on the table, off of it. Then Krauser placed him on the table as gently as possible under the circumstances of Chris squirming and screaming, because the shotgun bullet fragments in his side still burned. It had been a scattershot which meant he had several areas burning with hot metal.

Fingers probed the side wound and he reached down to get rid of them, as they were exacerbating the pain. Krauser took hold of his searching hand and moved it out of the way so he could continue investigating how bad it was. The offending fingers returned, followed by Chris cussing some more and telling him to leave it alone.

“Do we have any pain meds?” Krauser queried, glancing at HUNK.

Someone else answered him. “There's a medical kit in the storage area on your left.”

It was, of course, Albert Wesker. The blonde appeared in his line of sight, head tilting downward to look at him on the table. He was the one to stop him from shoving Krauser's hand away a third time.

“He's helping you, Chris. Be a good boy and let him.”

“Why won't you die?” the agent asked through gritted teeth, as Krauser went to work on the wound to his side again.

It was a thing he wondered each time he saw him. Why not ask while he felt like screaming out loud? Not from the pain any longer, but from the frustration of once again being gotten the better of by his former captain.

“Charming as always I see. Well it may be possible I just can't die.” Wesker told him.

Chris scoffed, which he then followed with a soft whine as a needle pushed into his arm. HUNK had returned with the pain medication. He grew quiet as almost immediately he felt the drug taking affect and the pain dulled to a bearable level, though it now reminded him of his other wounds. His eyes seemed unable to focus and he stared up at the ceiling of the plane. He became aware the engine had started up at some point and the large aircraft was moving.

“Got it.”

The BSAA agent shifted his gaze to watch Krauser examining what must have been the last of the bullet fragments he'd pulled from him with a pair of tweezers. He set it aside and worked on stopping the bleeding and disinfecting the injury. He watched the man work for awhile and then a sensible thought finally broke through the drug-induced haze his mind had been for a time.

“How did you even know I was there?”

Wesker had disappeared since he'd been shot up with the drug and HUNK remained silent. That left Krauser who answered without pausing from what he was doing.

“A live surveillance video of the mansion's foyer. We were looking at the monitors and saw you on them.”

“Let me guess. The reason you were looking at them in the first place is because your crack team of security hires couldn't manage to notice my intrusion, let alone the two Wesker children sneaking around, so you had to check things out yourself periodically.” He winced when Krauser sat him up to tightly wind bandages around his waist.

The scarred man didn't say anything to his words but instead informed him the clothes would have to be cut off and Chris didn't fight him on it. His clothing was a mere pair of hospital scrubs now torn and bloody. He wasn't exactly attached to them.

For the first time, HUNK moved since injecting the pain medication, and he helped the agent stay in a seated position as Krauser removed everything. He spent the next few minutes removing the handgun bullets from the his thighs, assessing the rest of his injuries, and bandaging where needed. Then he moved to stand behind Chris to get a better look at where he'd been stabbed in the back. Chris's mind went over the events of that night and he wondered what was going to happen next. He couldn't stay here.

“Why are they so fascinated in you, Chris?”

He glanced up to find Wesker standing in front of him with arms crossed over his chest. He didn't answer the tyrant and felt Krauser finishing up with his back, placing a patch over the stab wound. Then his fingers moved across his back and landed on his left shoulder.

“We're going to have to take care of this. You ready for that?” the buff, blonde-haired man asked him.

He glanced over at the speaker looking rather doubtful. There was plenty of pain already without causing more by having his dislocated arm put back into place. Of course, if he didn't have so many other injuries and wasn't on a lovely medication for pain, his arm being out of its socket would be feeling extremely painful.

It seemed he wasn't going to be given a choice in the matter, however, when he felt a gloved hand take hold of his limp arm. Wesker had come closer to the table and taken Chris's arm in his grasp.

“Ah, hell...just do it,” he said reluctantly.

HUNK moved over to Wesker, who leaned slightly to speak quietly so no one else could hear, and then the black uniformed man walked out of sight. At the same time, Krauser held him firmly around the shoulders and chest to keep his body from moving as the blonde tyrant then yanked hard on the arm. He yelled out as white-hot pain seared through him and then it faded as the arm locked rightfully into place. Chris moved his left arm around a bit, testing its flexibility out. It felt much better.

“Thanks.” Chris said, directing the gratitude to Krauser as he hopped off the table, and almost immediately keeled over.

He clutched onto the edge of the table and steadied himself, deciding that maybe he should take things slower since he wasn't quite healed yet or anything. He felt a grip on his good shoulder and back and knew it was Wesker. Despite who had their hands on him, he allowed himself to be helped into new clothes identical to his previous combat clothing he had on in Excella's facility before ending up in the hospital.

Where could Wesker possibly be acquiring these clothes for him? He wasn't sure he even wanted to know. After he was dressed, feeling like a child for needing the help, he let the man lead him over to one of the seats in the aisle on the plane and took a seat. The BSAA agent could use a stiff drink, or a nap, or just not getting punched in the face. He fought the sigh from escaping when Wesker remained standing, hovering at his side while peering down at him through dark lenses.

“Chris, what did they want from you?”

Krauser came around the other side and sat in the seat next to him, passing over a small bag which contained several pills.

“For the pain.”

He accepted the pain killers, praying they were strong. His chin was gripped, face forcefully turned to look up at the speaker.

“What-do they want-from you?” Wesker asked, now crouching by his seat.

“I don't know.”

“You must have some idea.”

“Nope.”

“Really? Because you usually seem to find something out of everything that you're involved in.”

Wesker stood back up. Looking down at him once again, he questioned, “Why, Chris? Why are they so interested? Surely something was said which proved enlightening to you.”

He didn't see any point in lying. The tyrant always knew when he was lying and he didn't feel like getting tortured for the information. Which at the moment was a possibility, since it was Wesker doing the questioning.

“Well..every time they find me they mess around with me instead of killing me outright. A sign they either like to talk too much..kinda like you..”

Wesker did not respond to his snarky comment but instead prompted him. “Either that, or...?”

“Or the intention of their attack wasn't to kill.”

“Because..” Wesker began, pausing for emphasis before finishing his presumption. “Their objective was capture, not kill.”

Chris fiddled with his fingers and sighed softly. “Yeah, that's probably it too. Just my luck.”

“Here. You left this behind.”

The BSAA agent stared at the Samurai Edge handgun resting loosely in one of Wesker's gloved hands. He accepted the weapon without a word, finding his eyes taken in by the piece of metal. Such a small thing, a gun, but this type of gun in particular held meaning for him. It represented his past. This was the exact model gun he had been given as a STARS member and skilled marksman.

The gun meant more to him than just that though. Now, the weapon reminded him of the good things he managed to accomplish while he was stuck in all the bullshit. Like destroying the mansion, which he was certain had contained experiments, since even the Weskers made mention of bio-weaponry.

Chris didn't know how long he was going to be held captive by Wesker, or whether those four Wesker children would eventually get to him, but there was one thing he did know. He didn't want to die. What he wanted was to see Jill again. He wanted to be sure Sheva was all right and he didn't want Claire to be left without a brother. And as always, there was work to be done yet for him, terrorists and bio-attacks to be prevented. He was going to survive this. He was..right?


	12. Resistence to Evil

"Get off me!"

"Realize your resistance merely serves to amuse me."

"Shut up, Wesker!"

Chris could do nothing as he was dragged out of a car which had awaited all of them at the airport and taken them to a building he did not recognize. It appeared to be a facility of some kind and the only thing he could see around him were trees and more trees. He wasn't even sure where he was any more. This wasn't looking good for him. Especially when he was so injured that running would be quite the accomplishment. Wesker got him to the front door and that was when he chose to elbow the other as hard as he could in the throat. Enough to get him to release his grip, but unfortunately Krauser was ready and waiting to grab hold of him in his place.

A frustrated yell passed through his lips and then he was shoved inside the doors. The place was lit up, people walking to and fro. By all appearances, it was a regular place of business. At least that's what Chris could have imagined, if not for the enormous red and white logo of the Umbrella Corporation covering the tile flooring directly before where the five of them were standing at the front entrance. The scarred man shoved him forward a little bit farther, releasing him, and Chris watched as Excella sauntered ahead. She came to stand at the center of the large lobby of the five story facility and spun on her heels to face him.

"As you can see, this place belonged to Umbrella once upon a time. But now, it belongs to me. Of course, the facility in Kijuju was much preferred. However, I thought it wise to have a near equivalent backup location. This is it. Enjoy. I hear you're going to play a very big role in our work to come."

"You bitch!"

A gloved hand solidly connected to the back of his head. "Manners, Chris."

"Won't you just shut up?"

"Ha ha. I'll make you a proposal," the older man offered. "If you can make me, I'll keep quiet."

A silent glare was the only response he could give in return. Wesker always knew how to get under his skin and it annoyed the hell out of him. He grimaced automatically when Krauser placed a hand on him again, steering him to a doorway on the left.

"Move."

When he shot the heavily muscled man a glare too, it got him a grin and another shove to urge his continued walking. He did, not knowing what other option there really was for him, and passed through a set of double doors just ahead of Ada and Krauser. There was a long white-walled, brightly lit hallway which lay before them. The Italian woman pushed on through them, barely acknowledging they continued to exist around her as her mind became occupied with speaking to the one she never could forget existed.

"I suppose we should take care of his wounds first and foremost, yes Albert?" Without waiting for an answer, she went on. "The medical room isn't far."

She paused mid-step to turn on one heel, her way of emphasizing how important her words apparently were, as she tilted her head over her shoulder to peer at Wesker. "The lab designated for your primary use is on the second basement level. I can take you there after-"

"I will go there now."

"Uh, ah, yes, of course. I will take you there," she stammered out.

"I am every bit capable of finding my own way. Ada, the samples?"

The woman now in a dress a shade of red more closely related to the color pink, patted her left thigh. "I have them here."

"You will accompany me to the lab. Excella, take Chris to the medical room and Krauser will go with you to ensure our unwilling guest..behaves."

"I won't be your experiment!" Chris shouted. "Tell me something, Wesker. I just blew up one of your facilities. Why aren't you more..I don't know, upset?"

It didn't do much for his rising anger at the level of fear also rising inside him, when his demand for some sort of expected reaction out of Wesker, brought him a thing he did not expect. A smirk in the typical cocky Wesker fashion. The response was as obnoxious as he should have anticipated.

"As you can see, I have another facility right here, all ready for use. Your meddling was an inconvenience, nothing more. I need not concern myself with a thing I do not deem a threat. Like you, Chris."

The tyrant was walking away with Ada following closely after him. The latter glanced back at Chris though, seemingly trying to communicate something with her eyes, but he couldn't read it. He couldn't understand what she wanted to tell. He was trapped and didn't know why she did nothing to get him out of his increasingly threatening situation. Wesker sought to use him for experiments and if it happened, things were going to get a lot worse for him. The Asian woman claimed she did not help him because with Wesker, he was apparently safer. Could she say the same was going to be true in the very near future?

Chris grounded down on his bottom set of teeth. Before the man could get out of earshot, he yelled after him a reminder. "I've stopped you before, Wesker! There's nothing that says this time will be any different."

The inhuman being hesitated at the doors and then he was going on through them. It was enough for Chris though. He had drawn out a reaction which would suffice as satisfactory for the time being. It wasn't like he had much to keep up his optimism these days so he would take what he could get. As little as that might be.

A haughty tone burst through his slightly uplifting thoughts. "If you are quite finished, we can proceed?"

"Shove it, Excella," he told her, and walked on past in the vague direction he figured the medical area was located. "I may have to stay here, but I don't have to like it."

"Oh, I don't know," Krauser began. "There are ways to say..control one's actions. Or have you forgotten about your friend? The female who lost certain pigmentation to her. I have to say, she looked a hell of a lot better before the color change. But the fragile thing would have died without long-term stasis. Ah well, the experiment with her turned out to be a bust. Guess, we'll just have to try a little harder this time."

Chris fought to quash the intense desire to smash the other man's face in for even mentioning Jill. He felt responsible for what happened to her in Wesker's hands and it incited that guilt whenever any enemy of his dared bring her up in conversation. She was free now though and that was something. He tried to focus on that fact as he clenched and unclenched his fists, continuing down the hallway.

When he reached a divide in the hall, a glance to his right found him staring at a set of double doors. The words, “MEDICAL WARD”, were printed in big block letters above the doors. Excella hadn't been kidding when she said their destination wasn't far.

He attempted to play it calm. “Cool.”

Pushing through the doors and strolling into the ward, he was surprised to see how large the room was. There were a couple of people to the far right, one sitting at a desk and the other leaning halfway over it. The flirtation taking place was obvious and the guy practically toppled over on his ass trying to appear like he wasn't. When he saw Chris, his bewilderment became confused and then suspicious.

“Hey! Who are you? You can't be in here!”

“Oh, relax, you ignorant fool. He is with me. Now find yourself something to do or I will find a more suitable location for you...Like the basement levels, perhaps?”

“Uh..no, no thank you! I'll get to work, right away! My apologies ma'am!”

“Wipe that ridiculous expression off your face and leave,” was all Excella had to say to the male worker in return.

He wasted no time in scurrying off into some room beyond the main medical ward area that Chris couldn't get a good view of except for a doorway. Meanwhile, Excella had wandered off to a counter on the other side of the room. She set about locating and gathering various items before motioning for him to sit on one of the lab chairs. He did so but not before hesitating when he noticed the wrist and ankle restraints the chair contained. Krauser followed him, scanning his body briefly as the agent sat on the edge of the seat with straps. There were no strong urges to be strapped down at the moment and so he kept away from them, acting like the chair was a fire that could burn him at any time.

Always one for survival and perseverance, the next thing he did was scan the room with the hope that he was fortunate enough for ammo to have been left lying around. Wesker had returned his handgun to him back on the plane and it was currently tucked away in the thigh holster on his right leg. They had given him identical equipment to what he had been wearing previously as well, including the utility belt and thigh holster for his weapon. It didn't do much to calm his nerves. Not when it probably would have been easier to just leave him as he was, practically naked and completely helpless. His eyes returned to stare blandly in front of himself. No such luck with the discovery of random ammo, his thoughts returned to the direct problem at hand.

They wanted to experiment on him, that much he already knew. The P30 chemical used on Jill was by all indications, what they were going to use on him, eventually. First they would need to modify the version Jill had been pumped continuously with if they were going to have better success. This line of thinking brought him around to deciding his former captain had probably chosen to keep him in his typical choice of clothing in order to further enjoy total control over a BSAA agent and former subordinate in STARS. In other words, Chris would be Chris by all appearances; but with the P30 coursing through his veins, it would only be skin deep.

“Asshole...” he murmured.

“Excuse me?”

He hadn't seen Excella walk over to stand next to where he was sitting, legs dangling in a bored manner. His eyes began to roll in the typical way that occurred whenever he laid eyes on the Italian snob, but he managed to restrain himself with a quick blink to hide the motion. He realized she didn't deserve such an adverse reaction when at the moment, she was trying to help him. _Help him like a lamb before the slaughter..._

There were far too many injuries to not be in constant pain. Even if she was only healing him to allow his use for experimentation later, if it got rid of the pain, then it was okay by him. For now he would play their game, go along with it. Not that there was much choice. This was still the thing to do at present. Stay alive and wait for an opening to escape. It was all he could do.

“Sorry... Wasn't referring to you,” he told her.

“Were you referring to me then? Cause I can think of a few better names to describe me.” Krauser said with a grin.

Chris shook his head. “Nope and you're right, I can think of more than a few for you.”

“This will sting a bit.”

He heard the words spoken by Excella, moving his eyes to her in time to be sprayed all across his body. The fine mist caused him to flinch and shut his eyes, turning away from the woman. It was more than a sting and pure agony spread across him as he felt bones shift back into place, muscle tissue fixing abruptly, and skin growing and healing itself. All this in a matter of seconds.

The pain receded and dulled, eventually fading out altogether, and he could tell he was essentially fully healed. He was left feeling sore and exhausted though. Nothing could ever be entirely fixed without some sort of side effect. Still, the results of the first aid spray, a medical product developed by Umbrella, continued to amaze him. The item was truly a miracle cure, at least for non-mortal wounds. Such a product could make quite the difference out there in mass use among the world's population. Umbrella likely found it to be something they didn't want to share. Why help others when they could simply help themselves?

“You're thinking too much, Chris.”

He twisted his body around to face Krauser.

The man tapped his finger against the side of his own head. “You tend to frown when your mind is racing.”

He narrowed his eyes as they locked gazes. “Can you blame me for thinking constantly? I'm surrounded by evil psychopaths out to destroy the world.”

"You have these predetermined notions about everything, don't ya, hero? Everything isn't plain black or white. You don't _really_ believe people are either pure good or pure evil, do you? Everyone's got a little of both in them, even you."

"Yeah, I know people can have both. They have the choice whether to let the dark side of themselves out though. At least I get Wesker's penchant for doing the wrong thing, and being so egotistical that he would think it's the right thing somehow. The guy never had a chance. He was pretty much set up from the get go to be some kind of tool for Umbrella. But you, you were good. Then you let your greed for power get the better of you. Now you're just like that tyrannical monstrosity."

Krauser made a noise resembling what was probably contemplation before answering. “We're trying to make the world a better place. We're saving people from themselves by doing what we're doing. This world of ours is a catastrophe heading towards its own self-destruction.”

“Ugh, you sound just like him.”

“Do you understand what I'm saying, Chris? Do you understand who we are to this world?”

“Yeah, dangerous. Men who will invariably make the world worse off. That's why I will stop you.”

“Do you really think you're in a position to stop anything Wesker has planned?”

Chris's eyes shone, expression transitioning into one of determination. “I'm right where I need to be.”

“You really believe that, don't you?” Krauser asked him, but in a knowing manner. Without waiting for a response which he already knew, he added, “I look forward to it.”

“To what?”

The bigger man smiled. “For when the day comes when we fight again. A true fight, no interruptions from..outside distractions.”

“Krauser, we've never had a real fight.”

“Hmm..not a physical one, not yet. But I don't underestimate you like Wesker does. You are a formidable opponent, Chris. So I have no doubt the day will come when you make good on your promise to try and stop us.”

He retorted quickly, words coming almost automatic. “I didn't say try, I said _will_.”

Krauser's smile widened further and then silence reigned. But it wasn't awkward, it could even be considered comfortable. This was apparently equally disturbing to the mercenary working for Wesker, as his smile went away and he stared at Chris a bit differently. He looked right back at the other man and it was as though they were each contemplating how they had just had a normal conversation, wondering how it was possible.

He was first to look away and forced his attention to Excella, who was busying herself with things unknown right beside him. It occurred to him that he should probably be concerned about what the Tricell employee was doing, but his mind was too busy racing with other thoughts, unwanted thoughts. Right now he didn't want to think about the normalcy of his talk with Krauser, and how he was beginning to move past what had been done to him..somehow. At least with the blame. He was far from over what had happened to him. He doubted he ever fully would be.

But he found himself not blaming Krauser for being the instigator of his immense suffering in that room. There was someone else he blamed far more for his torture and subsequent mind screw. Someone he blamed for a lot more than what happened to him in the more recent weeks, but also for what he'd been going through his entire life as the casualties mounted.

Albert Wesker's betrayal changed everything for him. And that was a stain he could not remove from his soul. Wesker would be forever imprinted inside of his mind, and now more recently, his body too. He was a poison that Chris just kept coming back to, re-infecting himself in his attempts to eradicate and cleanse it completely. All he ever succeeded in doing though, was allowing it to seep in further. It made it even more difficult to get rid of the next time and he knew if this continued, one day it would kill him.


	13. Mission: Entirely Possible

"I've got something here!"

"Finally,” the female agent replied. “We're getting somewhere.”

"Are you sure?" the civilian woman questioned, tone dubious.

"Really? Why do you have such doubt in your partner?" the young agent asked.

"He's not my partner, and this is my brother we're talking about. I'm done chasing false leads and bogus clues."

"You're as stubborn as he is,” the man labeled the irritated woman. “I knew I shouldn't have let you come along."

Claire Redfield spun around to fix her impatient and angry stare onto her current “foe”. She knew what the frustrated woman was thinking.

He'd been keeping her in the dark every chance he got. The one the younger Redfield remotely considered to be on her side, appeared to be the woman she knew least in their search party for her sole sibling. Sheva Alomar was a kind soul and she genuinely did everything she could to keep Claire feeling positive and determined to find her brother alive. Chris may not have been captured, Sheva said. Chris may just be stuck with no way home or decided to go on a different mission all on his own. Sure those options were highly unlikely, but the words managed to make Claire feel better nevertheless.

"We are all partners, Claire.” Sheva reminded. “We work together as a team to get results."

"But we're not because Leon S. Kennedy followed some stupid story his government guy told him, which ended up sending us all the way here to-What is this French city called again?"

"Malakoff." Sheva supplied in a helpful manner.

"Whatever. The point is, it's probably yet another dead end and we're nowhere closer to finding Chris."

Instead of looking irritated, she was looking a bit more sad. The only one she seemed to view as a true ally in this attempted futility to improve her dour mood.

"Well, if nothing turns up, at least we could get to visit Paris?"

Leon winced. "Not the tactic to use here, Sheva. Claire, we'll find him. I promise."

Jill Valentine, who had waited patiently while Leon and Claire had their little tiff, spoke up. "I've got something here. We should be examining the latest piece of evidence, don't you think? Now would be good?"

The BSAA agent didn't wait to see if they would follow, assuming they would. She moved to sit behind the desk she'd been rifling through and tossed the file in hand toward Leon and Claire. In unison, the pair turned to eye her abrupt motion and then the gazes shifted downward. The government agent reached for the file within his sights but it was Claire who snatched it up. As her eyes began to scan the information Jill found worth paying attention to, the former partner of her brother's shared verbally to the rest what it said.

"A Tricell building in Paris blew up, two weeks ago. The media claims it was a possible terrorist attack. Police think a different story. They believe it was some sort of internal sabotage or a move against them from an enemy company."

Claire hummed in disagreement. "Sounds wrong."

"I think so," she agreed.

"You think it relates to Chris." Leon deduced. "You think he might have done it?"

"Well, either he's responsible or he had some sort of role. It sounds like him. Blowing up the building of a company performing illegal experiments on innocents."

"But we found no proof of Tricell actually having a hand in any such experiments. Aside from Excella's affairs in Africa, there is nothing indicating anyone else is involved with non-pharmaceutical production," noted Sheva.

Jill contemplated her current partner's line of thinking. "We never found Excella after you and Chris freed me in that stone room. There's no certainty Wesker died in that volcano either. Josh Stone said the clean-up crew couldn't find any trace of him, though..it was a volcano."

The BSAA had combed West Africa for any signs of survivors, friend or foe, and come up with nothing. They were especially searching for their hero agent gone missing but gave up after finding no path to follow. It was Jill's persistence to continue the search that the organization sent their newly returned agent, and the team of her choice, back out on the mission to find him. Chris was declared MIA as he should be, because she truly believed her old partner was still alive.

"Right, but that monster has survived a lot so I'm guessing he's still out there." Claire voiced.

A disturbing thought that was to all of them. The woman glanced around the boringly decorated file room and then her eyes focused back in on the agents helping to find her lost sibling. Jill tried to catch her eye but didn't succeed at keeping it.

Claire expressed a thought then, that sounded like it had just come to her. "You don't think... What if Wesker has Chris? What could he be doing to him? I mean, look what he did to Jill."

Subconsciously, Jill tugged at her ponytail. After returning to the United States and the BSAA, her first order of business had been to dye her hair back its original brunette color after thoroughly showering. Being an experiment and then a walking drone for two years made it a necessity for her. She was normally in complete control and always opinionated, so two years induced to sleep, and then hardly speaking a free word in her waking hours, made her extra motivated to do the small things for herself to be content. Besides, spending the majority of that time awake in the company of an insufferably selfish aristocrat, made the returned freedom all the more of a relief to have again.

"If Wesker found Chris, he might have killed him-but," she quickly added when she saw horror and fear creep into Claire's eyes. "Wesker enjoys his power and loves to gloat. There is a very high probability he kept Chris as he kept me, to revel in power over a former subordinate who hates his guts and wants nothing more than to stop his evil from spreading."

Jill hoped that hadn't sounded too rehearsed. From the beginning, she considered Wesker alive unless she saw a body, and the same for Chris. And with both of them nowhere to be found, why not count on them being in the same place? She heavily suspected the exact phrases she gave to Claire would be said, she just hoped the younger woman didn't pick up on that during her recitation.

"So we agree?" Leon questioned. "We're thinking Wesker's alive and he's holding Chris captive?"

Nods and murmured agreement all around. They'd been searching for Chris for over three weeks and never really discussed the bad that could have happened to him. They never wanted to discuss it because they didn't want to accept he could be hurt, suffering, or even dead. Now they finally came upon a potentially solid lead. Chris had very likely been in Paris two weeks ago. Two weeks behind him was better than three weeks behind his trail.

The visit to the government building and the files archive of recent high alert situations had been useful after all. Claire really hadn't believed anything would pan out, sharing a few days ago with Jill, a gut feeling telling her Chris was alive. Something she felt strongly enough to be traveling around the world. Some real and tangible evidence of his continued survival would do her wonders though.

Two BSAA agents, a government agent, and a Terra Save employee, and this was the best they could do? She was aware Claire had hoped for more, faster, but knew it was an unrealistic and unfair expectation. They both knew that truth and ignored its reality. Finding a single, solitary person in the vast expanse the world had to offer was a difficult task.

She watched as Claire breathed in and out, deep, then looked more favorably to Leon. "So where do we go from here?" The woman handed the file to him. "Is there anything in here that might tell us where he went?"

Frowning at the file in hand, he flipped the first page over, browsing through it with skilled eyes, then flipped to the next. He paused on the fourth page. A small smile came on his face and he placed the file down on the desk before the three women with him.

"A helicopter was seen by multiple witnesses, leaving the precise area of the Tricell building, _after_ the explosion. If anybody were to escape from that building..."

"It'd be Chris." Jill agreed. "Leon, you're the man with the best connections right now. Any chance you can find us someone to track that helicopter?"

Leon already had his phone out, fingers dialing.

/

Irma stepped out into the sunlit afternoon, eyes scanning the immediate area around her. She quickened the pace on the sidewalk immediately outside her apartment building in Hanover, Germany, her current place of residence. Her entire life she had traveled all over the world, the job requiring it of her to do so. As a scientific researcher, the hours were long and the pressure for results was high. She'd left the job working for Umbrella nearly a decade ago, but the traveling continued with her new work at a medical research facility within laboratories across the globe. Germany was her nation of birth though, therefore, she tended to rotate back to the lab here in Hanover the most.

Much of her young adult life had been spent in America, but Germany would always be home. When she changed biologically, when she could no longer move around in public without the careful application of dark colored contacts in place, she researched the corporation she'd worked and learned from for so long. Irma was highly intellectual and she had known a lot of what her work was doing was in the morally gray area and beyond. When she herself became infected, the time came for her to make a decision. She left Umbrella and went into researching medicines that would actually be put to use to benefit mankind. Selfish ambition had never been a part of her and apparently that was an oddity.

She'd done her research on the Wesker Project once she sought out and found Ozwell E. Spencer, who told her her purpose. She hadn't said a word in response to his grandiose speech and left when he was finished. No longer did she feel any desire to be any place that man..monster was, and she forever left everything Umbrella Corporation stood for behind. He gave her a file on the other project survivors, apparently thinking it would change her mind and bring her back to work with him on his demented vision. It hadn't. It only told her that the other survivors of the experimental injection often acted selfishly, immorally, and sometimes downright vicious.

Admittedly, she had been selfish and still could be, but the immorality ended when her employment with Umbrella ended, and she would never resort to cold-blooded acts for personal gain. Whatever impacted the moral centers of her fellow Wesker children, it hadn't done the same for her. Which either meant her mind hadn't cracked from the strain of the virus or the others weren't as psychopathic as they appeared. That perhaps their actions were a fully conscionable choice, because she doubted a one in thirteen exception statistic.

Her eyes flickered toward a rooftop on the left. Irma returned her gaze straight in front of herself, never breaking her current stride. She swept a hand through dark hair while the other hand reached into her long coat. In one smooth motion, she let the bag drop from her shoulder, spun around, and opened fire with the Glock 17 pulled from the coat.

The man trailing her in the black suit and tie dropped to one knee on the cement before popping back up to his feet. He ducked out of sight, using the panicking crowd of people on the sidewalk and street to disappear from view. She forgot about him for the moment, choosing instead to glance in the direction of the rooftops on her right that caught her attention before. Sure enough, someone was standing atop one of the roofs. This second man stood there silently, watching her.

"I know what you are!" she shouted up to him.

He dropped down to the street below without damaging his body, and thereby proving his abnormality. A slight smirk grew upon his face. He raised a gloved hand into the air, giving it a little wave in a mock greeting.

"You'd be the first."

She blinked at him, not certain what he meant.

"We are a conceited kind, never able to see past our own supposed invulnerability. You seem different. Nothing at all like the one of us I took out in New York."

"Your point?" she asked, not bothering to raise her voice. Their hearing was superb, the noise of the street unable to drown the conversation between them out.

"I wonder if your belief in your own mortality will be of benefit, or result in making you easier prey."

She canted her head to the side as she took him in. A tall man wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Clothing that operated as comfortable, casual, and yet entirely combat effective should he choose to engage her. Violence was a fact of life, but she really wasn't in the mood. A final glance at him and then she took off running down the sidewalk and away.

Running was nothing new for her. When she initially left Umbrella behind, they hadn't been keen to do the same with her. They'd spent a lot of time and effort on making her; they expected results. When she broke the first men that came after her, then the second and third groups, they stopped sending them. Perhaps Spencer had finally realized he'd created something he couldn't control. Maybe he was hoping she'd come back to him on her own eventually. He was dead now so her continued freedom remained firmly secure for the most part. She wasn't stupid enough to cease being cautious, however, as the present was proving to her.

Five blocks down and he was beside her, lashing out with a heavy boot. She took it in the side and flew into a brick wall. As soon as her back hit the solid surface, she pushed off and attacked with a fist. Her assailant avoided it and countered with a low punch to her ribs. This time it was her turn to dodge the hit and responded by nailing him in the face with her free fist. His head snapped back and she followed up the successful hit by jamming the gun into his stomach and pulling the trigger.

He stumbled away from her, grunting out annoyance at the hole in his ribs, and she smiled at her success. Okay, so maybe she wasn't entirely pure. Irma leveled the weapon to his head but the motion shuddered to a halt as her body seized. She lowered her gaze to find a knife in her spine, paralyzing her completely. Her eyes could yet move and they searched farther down to see the man in the suit gripping the knife. His eyes almost seemed to apologize to her for a second, but then he ripped the knife out, part of her spine along with it. She clamped her jaw to keep the roaring scream mostly inside, while her assailant removed himself from her line of sight.

The pain was incredible. The knowledge that the damage was reversible and would heal because of what she was, not at all reassuring in her present situation. She dropped like a stone toward the ground but was caught before she could hit the hard concrete. The man in the sunglasses and baseball cap had caught her and was peering down at her with glowing red eyes showing over the top of his lenses. Irma stared back at him, unable to do much else with the paralysis.

"Thank you, Kincaid," the man murmured, and then to her uttered, "Your days of freedom have ended."

Irma continued to stare, mind racing. Could he know about how much she loved being away from Umbrella and anything that reminded her of the created person she was? Did he somehow know she'd been running? She supposed he did know at least somewhat, what her life was like. After all, he was like her. He was one of them.

"Time to fulfill your destiny."

A noiseless scream escaped from her throat when the needled syringe plunged into her chest, straight into the heart. When the second one went in, her eyes rolled to the back of her skull and she lost all sensation, all awareness, everything.


	14. Vows and Denials

A kiss to his son's forehead before he bade him off to school. The young teenager groaned in embarrassment, believing himself far too old for such displays of affection. Marco didn't mind as he watched his child wipe invisible spit from his head while waving his father away. His son out the front door, he returned to his place behind the kitchen counter where he was frying up a second batch of eggs for him and his wife.

"Maria, scrambled?"

"You know it."

He smiled. She had yet to bother lifting her eyes above the top of the newspaper. He really couldn't find it in him to care about her inattention. Life was good. Over ten years ago, he'd made a vow to his wife and his infant son, that he would be the father they wanted and needed. And he had been. He worked construction gigs and owned a small pizza joint in New Jersey that his wife spent her days running. His ancestry was of Italian descent, hence the Italian pizza place, but he'd lived in America the majority of his life. Most of them had.

His hand went to the drawer beside the sink, pulling it open and removing the sharpest knife available to him. He'd heard rumors, whispers amongst the intelligence network, of only the most informed, that those like him were being hunted. Truly he'd hoped the intel. had been wrong, or that somehow, he would avoid being affected by such knowledge. Denial of the evil that had made him what he was, the others too, would be useless though. Especially now that the evil he'd left behind had come for him, after all this time.

"So, which one are you?"

Marco sensed his wife startle at his sudden spoken inquiry. He understood she thought it was meant for her. The unwelcome visitor was just outside the front window. He didn't turn yet, though he yearned to comfort her, still waiting for an answer.

"I'm the one who will beat all the rest,” said a man's voice, sounding like barely a whisper from the space and wall between them. “I'm better. And you, you are number eleven. The next on my list."

He smelled the heavy scent of fresh blood and spun around with horror, absolute. The front door was kicked open by such immense force that the wood splintered to pieces. The destroyed door and the man standing before it meant nothing. His world, bleeding and fading in the man's grasp, meant everything.

"No!"

The scream tore from his lips and then he whipped the knife at the man. It nailed him in the offending arm and the man stumbled and fell out of the doorway. Marco grabbed up his son and pulled him from the man's reach. He was aware his wife was shouting, panicked and terrified. He was aware his son's fully human and beating heart was slowing to a dangerous point.

"Wake up, wake up, oh God," his wife moaned, holding onto their child from the other side.

"God has nothing to do with it. He is an abomination."

Marco lifted his gaze to glare at the intruder, eyes venomous and making promises of retribution. This did not seem to bother the other man, his composure remaining much the same as he stepped into their home. A shrug was what he gave the enraged father, followed by cold words.

"We are not meant to procreate weaker beings, and humans, are weak. I do a favor by ending his existence."

"Shut the fuck up!"

He whispered for his wife to call 911 and was lunging for the man who'd hurt his son in the next second. Violent punches and kicks were exchanged back and forth, the rough motions of their bodies redecorating the interior of the house. Spotting the kitchen knife his enemy had discarded just beyond the opening to his home, he somersaulted toward it and scooped it up in one go.

As his opponent descended upon him, he thrust the knife up and into his stomach. Blood flowed, quick and easy, but it only served to tick the man off. A backhanded blow knocked Marco across the room and he stood in time to be stabbed himself, in the chest. His stab wound was not of the same tool, however, but a needled syringe.

"Wh-what?"

"Well, you lasted several minutes. Much longer than the ones I've encountered so far. Perhaps because you fight for your family?"

Marco choked and tried to pull away from the other with zero success. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wife coming toward them and he wanted to warn her away. He couldn't even speak.

His assailant tore the knife from his own stomach and swept it horizontally through the air, neatly slicing his wife's throat open. She dropped to her knees and he would have yelled out to her, tried to get to her. Instead he was injected a second time, harshly through the chest, before he had the chance to do much of anything.

He let himself fall against the wall, sliding down to the ground. He couldn't move any longer, could barely think. His mental faculties were leaving him. Marco's eyes sought out his wife, his son, and saw all that red. There was so much blood. He knew he'd lost them. Nothing else was really left to matter.

Using the last of his strength, he forced raw and agonizing words out of his mouth. He spoke to the monster of a man who'd taken everything from him with no provocation, no real need to do what he'd done.

"I might not have been able to stop you, but someone will be able to, you self-righteous bastard. Believers like you, are always too blind to see what's right in front of them."

The monster was looking his way, crouching down in front of him to watch as the contents of the syringes took effect. "Is that right?"

"It doesn't take someone with super strength or super healing or any number of higher powers to win or be better. Who ever beats you, they just have to be determined enough to see you dead. You're going to underestimate someone and it'll be your demise."

Marco stared numbly up at his enemy, eyes no longer even blinking as he faded. The confidence behind the words stuck with the other man though. That he could see clearly.

"Such prophetic words. Do you actually think they'll amount to anything?"

No response from the now completely still man. Lex stood on his feet and glanced about himself at the bloodbath around him. It was certainly a familiar sight that never seemed to get old. He waited for Kincaid to come in and remove the Wesker child from the ruined house. Glancing down, he was pleased to see plenty of blood on his clothing. His target's words echoing in his head, he thought them over again, humoring the declaration. Wouldn't that be something? An ordinary man getting the best of him.

/

Chris firmly decided he loathed tests. Four days dragged by where he was poked and prodded by various instruments, given random injections, and he'd lost count of how many vials of blood had been drawn. He was mostly kept company by fully outfitted guards constantly on high alert, and a range of scientists. Excella grudgingly hung around the lab with him each day as well, appearing as bored as anyone could possibly appear. Krauser, on the other hand, enjoyed loitering nearby, and was anything but bored.

At present, he was grinning in Chris's direction and seeking to catch his eye. Not going to happen. He'd learned the hard way that all it ever amounted to was a leer, followed by a wink, followed by murmured promises of violence to be done to him at a future date. Instead of imagining all the sick things the man could do, he chose to spend his waking hours plotting his escape. He would get out of here. He just had to find the weak spots in security and wait till the super soldier wasn't lurking about.

Not that he was afraid of Krauser. Well, okay, he was a little afraid. The man was very strong and fast, almost like Wesker. Mention the whole issue about being brutalized and tormented by aforementioned soldier boy, and it made a bit more sense to be at least somewhat fearful. But he could take Krauser in a fight. Maybe, probably, well, he'd risk it anyway. It would be better if he was gone.

Krauser notably perked up. "It would be better if who was gone?"

Huh. Apparently he'd spoken that last part out loud. How unlike him. Could it be one of the numerous injections he received was actually having an effect? This wasn't good.

"Wesker?” the man guessed. “Yes, I imagine it would be better if he was gone. It can never be a good sign when the big boss himself comes for a visit."

Chris whipped his head around to see the man himself. He hadn't seen Wesker at all during his four days in captivity, living in the cold, dull medical wing of this place. He had yet to ascertain where the mansion was located and he figured he could concern himself with where he was, once he got his ass out the front door. That in itself would be a mission.

Turning away from the black-clad bastard, he didn't bother with any sort of greeting or acknowledgement other than looking at him for a moment. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how being cooped up in a lab was getting to him. Nowhere near as unbearable as the torture, but nowhere near inciting encouraging feelings of any kind. Ugh, and to think, he'd slept with him in an oh so pitifully pathetic moment of weakness. Never was he going to live that one down.

"I understand progress has been made." Wesker stated, tone dry and impatient.

"Albert," the posh woman positively purred. "How good of you to join us."

He didn't even have to turn to know she was currently leaned against his shoulder, fluttering her eyelashes up at him. Excella was anything but subtle in her flirtation and obvious desire to become a permanent parasite at the tyrant's side. Chris risked a quick glance toward a no-name female doctor heading his way, then looked away. Oh joy, yet another injection. Whatever side effect might this one have in store for him? He'd experienced cramping, burning sensations in his head and arms, and what was probably very nearly a heart attack at one point. He came to understand very quickly that they didn't care if he suffered as a result of their experimentation.

"I express my regrets on your lack of success of late, Albert. You are a brilliant man. Things will soon turn for the better."

Wesker growled, actually growled at her, and Chris shifted around in time to see him pull away from her grasp. She frowned and then forced a smile and it made him slightly happy. It would seem Excella was doubting her place in Wesker's world at the moment. As well she should be. The ambitious man kept what was of use to him and that was it. He didn't care for anything much outside of himself.

Right now Wesker was irritated by his current failure being broadcast to his enemy. It was making him a not so miserable captive in this minute. Anyone taking Wesker down a peg, however unintentionally, was okay in his book. Excella was growing on him.

"Progress, Dr. Jenner?"

"Yes," the doctor now standing in front of Chris seemed pleased to report. "See for yourself."

When he realized what was likely to follow the injection, he thought about making a run for it. Then he thought better of the idea. Even if he made it out the door, he wouldn't make it far. He'd be dragged back and injected by force. No, here was not the time to fight. He'd be ready when that moment came. He'd be ready.

He stuck out his arm and waited for the inevitable injection. When it happened, he sat there and felt his eyes dilate, felt the chemical surging through veins in his arm and to his chest. This one had a kick. For a minute he forgot how to breathe and woke up on the floor.

A hand gripped the front of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet, then back to sitting on the bed. Chris brushed away the offending hand, a hand clad in black leather per usual, and stared at his arm curiously. It felt funny. There was a dull thudding pain and the sensation of feeling a lot lighter throughout his entire body. How weird.

"Weird? What precisely do you feel?"

What the-with the prompt from Wesker, he must have said the last part of his thoughts out loud, again. He didn't like this lack of control. He answered the question, completely, without even thinking of the answer first, and knew it was a success. A success for Wesker. His scientists managed to concoct a P30 chemical that Chris's body accepted, and now his body was no longer his own.

"Stand."

His body jumped to obey.

"Sit."

He sat back down fast. Oh, fuck this.

"Stand."

Was Wesker really messing with him so childishly?

"Break Dr. Jenner's neck."

The doctor choked and took an immediate step away from Wesker and Chris. "What?"

He fought. His mind didn't want to do it but his body was itching to. A section of his brain was clearly wanting to obey Wesker's every command. But it was chemical. He was stronger than some chemical coursing through his veins. He concentrated the whole of his thoughts into one single action.

When his body lunged for the doctor, he forced it into a spin kick, nailing his boot against Wesker's chin. The man was caught off guard and stumbled slightly before regaining his balance. When he did so, Chris was satisfied to see a small bruise already appearing on his chin. The knowledge that the mark would heal far too fast, didn't lessen the satisfaction any.

Wesker looked disgruntled, maybe a minor bit put off, but his expression solidified into a calm and accepting stare seconds after his discontent. Ever the scientist he supposed. Honestly, he was surprised to have even caught the other man off guard in the first place. He thought Wesker knew him better than that. Chris would never stop fighting. He would never give up.

The tyrant's gaze shifted to the doctor again. "Keep working."

A sweep of his stupid long coat behind him, that managed to look stylish and yes, a tiny bit sexy, as he turned to go. Then he was gone from the lab. As soon as the door swung shut, he took stock of himself. He could feel it, his body was his. What a relief. He'd never much liked anyone telling him what to do. To have his willpower stripped away would be a nightmare come to life.

"I won't let him succeed," he promised, meeting Krauser's gaze with as much intensity as he could muster. "I will stop him before he can get far enough to try another Uroboros disaster."

Excella might have the "official" rank, but Krauser most certainly had the power and the leverage in regards to Wesker. Besides, the super soldier was the one who kept talking about how Wesker was working on something special in order to bring about a new, better world. Ironically, even though it was Excella who loved, or thought she loved Wesker, it was Krauser who believed in the man. These wanna be villains with their psycho visions of grandeur. They worked together but didn't even have the same endgame. The damage they could do laid in their misguided belief that they were right in what they were doing. It was so messed up. And Wesker had called him self-righteous.

Excella sniffed at his remark while Krauser seemed rather pleased. The woman strode off at a brisk and annoyed pace, only to lean against a desk nearby and stay. The soldier though, he stood right where he was, and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You're an action man, Chris," he said. "I would be disappointed if you didn't try."

Chris continued to stare back at the other man. "What Wesker's trying to do, it's bigger than any one person. I suspect what those four Wesker children want, it's far bigger than just me. All this bullshit about making the world a better place, bullshit. It's crap. It'll make things worse. So this is me, standing between the world I know, and the horror show others want to try and turn it into. Do what you will with me while you've got me. It won't make a difference. I will stop him. And you better remember, I'm not the only one like me."

His enemy chuckled softly but he'd had his desired effect. The words sunk in. Krauser was thinking. Excella had heard, too, and he knew she was truly hearing him as well. Let the planted seeds of doubt begin.

He smiled to himself and sat down in one of the chairs, feeling pretty good considering he was a hostage. It was temporary. He would stop him. He would remember his own words when the time came to act. The agent wasn't the only one like him. Others would never stand to let Wesker see his world become reality either.


	15. Stand Together, Walk Alone

Jill Valentine blew the pencil across the desk, caught it before it could topple over the edge, set it back in front of herself, and then repeated. This action had made up most of her morning. She strongly disliked waiting. Especially when such waiting meant she continued to be in the dark on the whereabouts of her former partner, her friend.

The concern was building, as was the anger. She planned on putting several bullets into Wesker when she found him. In the meantime, all she could do was wait while Leon struggled to find any scraps of information on a helicopter that apparently didn't exist. An entire week gone by, wasted, waiting for the last of Leon's contacts to get back to him on the chopper. Time was not on their side. When would the damn phone ring? Ring!

She nearly fell out of her chair when the phone suddenly rang on the desk across from her own. Claire spun away from the window to stare at the phone. Jill allowed her eyes to drag from the long-suffering sibling, over to Leon as he snatched it off the receiver. Silently, she prayed this was the call that would yield actual answers.

Not even a minute later and he was hanging up. He scratched something down on paper, fussed around with his handheld gadget, and finally looked up.

"We've got something but don't get too excited."

Jill straightened in her seat as Claire moved from the window to stare Leon down in closer proximity. They were both waiting, not a hint of patience left in either one of them. They needed something, anything to grasp at.

"A guy I know got me the name of an international airport where the chopper in question apparently makes its home."

"Okay, so where's the bad?" risked Claire.

"This guy I know, not known for his trustworthiness. Plus, he's not even one of my better sources, has the least amount of connections and pull, yet somehow managed to locate where this mysterious black helicopter routinely stops. I'm not buying it."

She ran her fingers through the hair of her ponytail and began tapping the pencil in her other hand against the desk.

"Okay, certainly sounds suspicious. Question is, do we go with a probable dead lead in the hopes that it takes us to a semblance of an actual trail to follow?" asked Jill.

Claire was surprisingly enthusiastic. "I say we do. If it takes us nowhere, we find this guy who went through all the trouble of putting out a false trail. I mean, he's bound to know something real, right?"

Leon appeared to be thinking that over, during which time Sheva walked through the door. The young woman seemed to realize she'd walked into a changed situation. It was then Jill made up her mind.

"We follow the lead, but we go with badges and weapons,” she suggested.

"This guy's a bit reproachful but I really don't think we have to worry about him doing anything like setting us up to be harmed in any way." Leon pointed out.

"Nothing wrong with being careful. You can bet a solid lead or not, there's a good chance we'll encounter some kind of trouble. Chris has a habit of getting into deeper and deeper troubles."

The single male of the bunch laughed. "We all have that tendency."

/

The airport was in Paris, only a thirty minute drive from the hotel and workspace the BSAA had set them up with upon their arrival in Malakoff, one week ago. It didn't bode well for Chris that they were now again three weeks behind him. Her partner and best friend missing for a month. This was unacceptable. Jill felt awful and uncomfortable with the knowledge that he had been pulled from the world. She couldn't even begin to imagine how he must have felt when she was gone for over two years.

They'd thought her dead, pronounced her as such after the search for signs of life over time proved entirely unsuccessful. When Chris finally found her, saved her from her prison, he hadn't seemed too surprised she was living. He'd believed her alive, even when everything pointed to her being that way as highly implausible. So she would believe in him being okay and explore every possible avenue to find him. It wouldn't be two years. It wouldn't be two months. She was going to save him like he'd saved her, and soon.

When the car pulled to a stop, she shifted to get out of the car and paused. Claire had made no move to get out. She placed a hand over the younger woman's and squeezed.

"Come on. We have to keep moving. You know he would."

They got out of the car, and together the pair of them joined Sheva and Leon in heading inside the airport. After an awfully lengthy period of explaining to security the nature of their visit and necessity for carrying guns, they made it through and into the heart of the bustling, crowded building. There they found a person they did not expect. Jill knew it wasn't coincidence.

"What is she-"

Jill and Leon interrupted Claire's vocal confusion at the woman in the deep red dress and blood red leather jacket, being, well, at the airport bar. The pair of them interrupted her by drawing their sidearms and aiming the weapons straight at Ada Wong. The woman had the gall to smile at the action, while the noticing civilians around them either shrieked or backed away in panic and fear. It was a good thing, she supposed. She appreciated it when innocent people cleared the way for her to do what needed to be done.

"Ada Wong! Don't move!" Leon yelled over to her.

She continued to smile sweetly at them. "I'm not moving."

"Keep your hands in plain sight. You are a wanted terrorist, believed to be associated with numerous viral outbreaks across the globe." Jill continued for Leon, but before she could get to the part about attempting an arrest on behalf of the BSAA, Wong was once again responding to their statements.

"I merely take advantage of outbreaks already in progress. I have no interest in chaos and violence. That's a game better left for men."

"A game?" Claire spat.

Jill looked sharply towards Chris's sister, startled she'd chosen to partake in this situation. She didn't know Ada Wong, not really. She guessed Claire was smart enough to know Ada wouldn't be here unless she had something to say or do, and suspected that something had to do with her brother. What in the hell Wong had to do with Chris was extraordinarily puzzling.

When Ada threw herself bodily through the air after launching with a push from the countertop, Jill had a second what the hell moment. In the next though, she understood. Rather, she saw the highly suspicious man Ada had selected to launch herself heels first into. The man was surrounded by three other equally out of place guys. They wore black, they carried knives, and how did they get past security?

No time for that. The four men were in the process of attacking Ada. Scratch that information. Two of them were on Ada, the other two had taken notice of their standing presence with weapons out, and actually moved toward them despite the guns. She yelled for them to stop, as did Leon, but they kept coming.

Damn it. Too many people scattering about behind them to fire their weapons and risk return fire hitting the crowd. Why it was people ran about aimlessly when they were afraid and confused, not knowing what to do, Jill didn't know. It was frustrating.

"Leon!"

He glanced her way and then near simultaneously, the pair of them holstered their weapons and moved in to engage the men in black in close combat. The men were skilled, definitely had formal training of some sort. Jill was ready for them.

She swung a leg around to connect with the closest man to her. It was blocked, but she was prepared for such a thing and struck with her left fist. It was astonishing how many opponents she'd come up against, that were never ready for an assault from the left. This man was no different, and reeled from the hard blow, clutching his face.

Taking advantage, she attacked again, striking the man square in the ribs with her booted foot. He fell to his knees and she took him out with a final kick, this time to the face. The man down for the count, she found herself disappointed at how easy the fight had been. Looking about herself, she found Leon had had quick success as well, while Ada appeared to be having all the fun with the two men she was engaged in combat with as of yet.

Sheva stood off to one side, looking ready to approach should the need arise. The secretive agent didn't need help. She was toying with her opponents, taking her time and enjoying the fight. Jill was wishing she'd hurry up already. Amazingly, Leon said her thought in a manner of speaking.

"Ada!"

A slight smile appeared on her face again, and then the snap of one man's neck angered Leon incredibly fast. He shouted her name in a very different tone the second time and the woman in red responded in kind.

"Ada!"

The smile disappeared, expression darkening, and she took out the last guy much less lethally. When she was quite finished, she glanced about herself at Jill, Sheva, and the rest of them. A very forced smile passed over her face briefly before falling away entirely.

"Sorry, sometimes I get carried away."

Leon glared, Claire looked away in disgust, and Jill noted Sheva bore a similar distancing expression like her own. Emotions were best kept off the battlefield, away from the enemy's prying eyes. She got right to the point.

"Ada Wong, do you know who those men were and why they were here?"

A slight tilt of her head as the woman crossed her arms over her chest in a relaxing manner. The woman knew something. That much was obvious. Jill was truly hoping Wong wanted to be forthcoming or else she doubted they'd learn anything new. There was darkness in this woman, and she suspected it was born from darkness. Something had made Ada the way she was today. A thing also kept her from crossing fully over, or rather, a someone did.

She glanced in Leon's direction, then returned her careful gaze to the woman who had spoken to her directly.

"He's okay. I mean, not completely. As I'm sure you're aware, bad things have happened to him. But he's okay, starting to act like himself. Not that I know him all that well... He seems better? I'm sorry I can't give you more on his well-being but I knew you would be wondering."

"Ada?" Leon began, paused, then went on. "What is this?"

"Those guys, hired muscle, nothing more. Krauser sent them to keep an eye on me. I do believe that man doesn't trust me."

"Krauser?!"

"Oh, right. Krauser's alive, still a misogynistic bastard who thinks with his body instead of his mind. He came down hard on your friend. Wesker put a stop to that but as you can imagine, Chris isn't too much better off with that superhuman in control. Anyway, my tail must have decided to execute orders given to them should they decide I ended up being a double agent, up to no good, or whatever. Idiots."

"So you're not a double agent?"

She'd appeared distracted for a moment, eyes cast downwards to the unconscious three and the very dead fourth of the men who'd come at her. Shaking it off, she looked at Sheva, really looked at her, for what might have been the first time.

"What? No. Of course I'm a double agent. But it was highly unlikely these men would be able to successfully take me out, especially when these guys were moronic enough to do it in full view of the public and you lot. Besides," she added with a slight shrug of her shoulders, "If they can't return to Krauser, there is nothing to say I didn't simply notice my tail and react accordingly to such an annoyance."

"It's what you mean to tell him." Leon realized, and Jill could tell, he was trying hard to track his emotional state and keep it professional and cool.

"Yes. You." She was looking to Sheva again. "You were with him in Africa."

"Yes." Sheva admitted immediately. "He is my partner. Until Wesker took him away."

"Krauser had him captured actually. Then Wesker made the decision to hold on to him. Listen, I need to get back, but, Chris is fine for now. Safe enough. The trail that led you here, is fake, a lie to steer you away from the truth. South Dakota. Search there for answers. You're bound to find something of interest."

Jill relaxed herself a bit. She couldn't say for sure, but she didn't think Ada was lying. She felt as though the woman knew far more than she was offering, yes. The fact she was here giving them a clue to go on at all was a wonder. She pondered on the run-ins Leon had with this woman in the past, and saw a potential answer somewhere among all that history.

Ada had shifted her stare to Leon again. She smiled warmly at him. It looked genuine to Jill.

"What's on your mind, Leon?"

"I wonder what _you_ are trying to steer us away from, Ada."

"Oh, Leon..."

"Get out of here, Ada. If you're not going to help us, I don't want anything to do with you."

"You won't arrest me?"

She appeared amused. Jill frowned and knew the others likely looked very similar. She knew full well why they'd traveled all the way to France. She knew a lot of things and said none of them. For the sake of what? To be in favor of having a more mysterious aura? To hold power over whomever she was required to? Or was it as simple as the fact that telling them everything failed to be for her benefit? But then, how was risking coming here to tell them anything managing to be beneficial to her?

"Ada, he's my brother. My only family. I'm begging you to help us if you can."

Very solemn now, she looked to Claire. "I just did. South Dakota. Don't screw it up. He needs you. Oh, and I suggest bringing back up when you do manage to find him."

She was running. Airport security had finally shown themselves and she fled their attention, far too easily. Leon looked like he meant to follow. Jill stepped just in front of him, as though it was unintentional even when it most certainly wasn't. She knew what it was like to feel something for the supposed enemy, to survive together, come out alive, and then face confusion, uncertainty. Ultimately, deciding alone meant safety.

Taking a moment to regard her current team seeking out her old partner, she knew they were no different right now. Because sometimes, even when you stood together with friends and allies, you continued to walk alone in fear.


	16. Apathy on the Rise

"You should avoid doing that."

Excella froze. She was on her way to the medical lab where Chris Redfield spent his days. She fiddled with her black dress, the fabric tight and uncomfortable, but certainly stylish. Pretending she did not know what the other woman meant, she crossed her arms casually and turned to face her.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes you do."

She sneered at the infuriatingly secretive agent in red. "It's none of your concern."

"If Wesker sees how you've grown less blind to his greedy ambition and more inclined to the man he holds captive and at arms length-"

"What? What if he does?"

"It won't end well."

"This is never going to end well, is it?" Excella asked as if she already knew the answer, but she was really asking.

She feared to hear the truth of the reality she'd been living in these past few years. Ever since the monsters became real, ever since she first saw a man become violent, murderous and controllable with simple infection, she'd always been afraid to see. Because to open her eyes, would force her to accept a lot of evil she'd witnessed and brought about herself, real and whole and terrifying.

"Why do you think he's the way he is? There's an answer, you know."

Excella furrowed her brow, puzzled about what the woman could possibly mean. When had the silent, mysterious one become so knowledgeable and insightful? That in itself was something she would like answered. Maybe, maybe Ada Wong had always been that way, and she just felt things were better kept to herself. Excella certainly knew what it was like to keep things unvoiced to best suit her situation. Though she was fully aware she might appear superficial and foolish, she was no idiot. She waited, wanting to hear what Ada had to say about the man she'd placed so much stock in for the past few years of her life.

The woman leaned herself against the wall in the hallway and looked over. "They were created to be great, to have purpose. But what they were instead, were freaks, having no real purpose."

Whatever did she mean by that? Excella wasn't understanding this at all. What made her think she knew what she was talking about? What gave her the right to try and figure out Albert?

"They look for a purpose and fight against their inherit sociopathic tendencies. Well, some of them fight it. Wesker, keeps good men at a distance to avoid such ideology from bleeding into their subconscious, so to speak. Some give in or believe it gives them a kind of advantage."

"An advantage toward what?"

She did nothing to hide the growing frustration she was feeling. It was making sense and she didn't like another woman knowing something about her Albert that she did not. On guard, she placed her hands on her hips, a tad haughtily, and waited for the reply.

"Fulfilling their purpose of making the world a better place."

Ada didn't seem bothered by the hostility she was displaying. The woman answered her easily and potentially honestly. Which bothered her. Why? What was it that made her gravitate toward those who would sooner harm her than help her? Why was she so eager for the acquisition of power? It was a long story that would only bore others and never put her in a positive light. She knew that much. No sense concerning herself on the future when the present was difficult enough to manage.

"You make them sound good." Excella pointed out. "Every action taken by these Wesker children have spoken to the contrary."

In her head she added, Albert's actions had also been far from laudable. A shame, when she'd given him so much, hoping he'd give her what she needed in return. She was still waiting for that dream to become even remotely a reality. What a shame.

"The world could use improving and Spencer made them to be gods among men to do just that."

"I thought the old man sought power and immortality."

"Yes but somewhere among the madness, there was a desire to do good. He wanted to make the world anew, so it would be safe and better."

"How could you know this?"

"I watch, I listen, and I do my research."

"Hmm." She was far from satisfied by the answer. "Albert wishes to create the world anew. This falls in line with your argument. The others, they do not."

"What do we really know about them? Not much."

"Exactly. So you have no basis to back up your claim."

The other woman had the nerve to appear amused by her response. What did she know? Why did everyone think they knew better than her? Excella reverted the topic to how this conversation had begun. She'd rather address that than the intentions of Albert.

"Who I choose to spend my time with is none of your concern."

Ada took a moment to adjust to the sudden change of the man of focus. She seemed to have expected such a thing to happen though, and was ready for it.

"Spending time with Chris shows a weakness of yours. Wesker appalls weakness, and it's why he pretends not to care. To care is to be weak in his eyes. They were programmed to do whatever it took to be better, to make things better, as I understand it. If you insist seeking out the company of another, then keep this in mind, Chris hates Wesker. But they aren't entirely dissimilar. He will use you if you give him the opportunity."

Then the other woman was walking away and Excella was left staring after her in muddled confusion. Was it just her, or had Ada purposefully given her an idea of how to get Wesker to notice her? Certainly not. Attention like that would get her killed. Which meant she could also be planting an idea in her mind, not so subtly. Perhaps this Ada Wong was all right after all.

/

"You should avoid doing that."

"Shut up, Jonah. I know what I'm doing and have calculated the potential consequences."

He regarded Laura carefully before giving her a curt nod of acceptance. She was a brilliant woman, highly intellectual and thoughtful in every endeavor she undertook. Truly she was not one he need concern himself about, yet he did. How could he not?

His focus changed to the head of this project of theirs. He'd often wondered if she knew what she was doing, in the beginning. Now he spent his moments in her presence, curious as to why she chose this specific project, when she did not seem to care much for the people in this world.

Felicia was a driven woman. Nothing could deter her from her investigation into the human condition. People fascinated her. She explored every aspect of them, sought to detect any conceivable information available on them. But she hated them. The research was beloved to her, a not so humble obsession, but the subject matter, utterly loathsome to her. What a peculiar thing she was.

That was just it though. What she was. What exactly was it she was? Jonah didn't know, Laura didn't. None of them knew. They grew up in strange situations where they were aware it wasn't ordinary. They knew they were brighter than other kids, had parents who set out a strict regimen for them always, and were never allowed to stray from the course. Miles was the first of their future research group to comprehend the futility of the life he was living.

He'd been more prone to unleashing his darker fantasies that coincided with an incessant desire to explore and unearth new information and possibilities. A trait inherit to all Wesker children they eventually learned, when they discovered the project responsible for their existence. He'd taken a neighbor boy from his yard when he was only twelve, forced some stolen pills down his throat to make him pliable, and proceeded to start a live vivisection. Needless to say, a few drugs were nowhere near enough to keep the little boy's forced compliance for long, and the screaming brought the neighbors running. Miles was moved to a secure research facility where he started work for Umbrella far earlier than planned.

See, the project survivors were meant to be under the illusion that they were mostly normal, human and mundane save for their vastly superior intelligence and strong upbringing. Wesker children were the property of Umbrella without ever knowing it, obedient, without ever knowing it wasn't their choices that took them along their career paths. Except, Jonah thought humorlessly, very few of them actually managed to fit the desired pattern.

What did Spencer think would happen when he created near invincible beings with extremely high intellects? That they would never cross paths with one another when their similarities far outweighed the meaningless differences that did exist? That they would never have such an original thought as to question _why_ they should listen to a mad man with a self-deluded fantasy? The day Spencer died had snapped a leash off of each of them. It was like a restraint on the mind suddenly lifted. They no longer felt weighted down by an unidentifiable urge to figure out their purpose. No, when Spencer died, they found themselves granted true freedom.

That was when Felicia came forward and revealed herself, first to Jonah, and then Miles and Laura followed soon after. Together, they determined to work together on a project Felicia had on her mind. One they all badly wanted some kind of outcome to. Jonah did at least. He wanted an answer. There had to be an answer.

“Jonah, help or hinder. Help or hinder.”

He rolled his eyes and moved closer to help Felicia lift the second corpse from the operating table and into the oven. Not that she needed the help being superhuman and all that. It was probably one of her bonding methods to keep them a team that required each other. Yeah, right.

“You know, these burns are still healing. I don't need new ones helping you clean up your messes.”

“They're Miles's mess and you know it.”

“Please, you encourage him. Still think you can somehow learn something about them on the physical level. I'm telling you, it's all in here.” He tapped the side of his skull. “It's their mental power that gives them strength, that makes them keep on keeping on.”

His gaze shifted to watch Laura at her work station, fingers moving dexterously across the keyboard as she made swift work of a series of complex mathematical equations. He didn't even flinch when she nearly made an error that could have caused a hidden missile from a long forgotten German bunker to launch and wipe out a substantially populated city in Russia. It wasn't like the planet wasn't overpopulated as it stood now.

“Hey Jonah. Look what I got.”

He didn't have to look to know what he would see. He could smell the stench of sex and sweat, blood and fear. He certainly didn't approve of what Miles chose to do in his free time, but he had better things to do than play at being a hero. He wasn't one, even if Felicia was in search of the perfect one for them to exploit in the name of experimentation and discovery.

“Where'd you get this one now? You weren't seen, were you?”

The dirt covered woman's chains made a loud clanking sound as she was shoved into a square cage, easily big enough to fit three grown men so long as they stooped. Whimpering began anew and he forced his attention over to see what was the matter now. How long it took for some people to learn when to shut their mouths was simply ridiculous at times. Felicia was the reason for the fearful noise emitting from the captive human. She was pissed.

“What the hell is this?”

Miles looked annoyed. He ambled over and hopped up to sit on the clean operating table beside the still very much stained one. Reaching across Laura, he snatched up her apple to take a deep bite. Jonah tore it from his grip before his teeth could sink in and returned it to its proper place in front of the intensely focused beauty at the monitor.

He ran a hand across his scruffy jaw and sighed. “I'm bored. I want a real challenge. All I get are the whimpering messes. Sorry excuses for a human race that's clearly not worth preserving. I want another shot at Mr. Hero. Give me some time alone with the likes of him. Bet I could make real progress there.”

“Miles.”

“Felicia.” Miles called back, mocking her stern tone with a false one of his own.

“What is the point of this? You've brought her already broken. What good is she?”

“I don't know. All I did was some over the clothes touching and she freaked out and wouldn't stop screaming. So I tossed her around a little. Just to shut her up. Now she whimpers. Whatever. Maybe you can check out her mind to see what caused her to be so weak, so easily.”

“You are not as stupid as you pretend you are. You know that's not how this works.” Laura noted, the first she'd spoken in a while.

“Isn't the point that we _don't_ know how this works?”

“We need strong test subjects who may actually succeed at surviving a test or two.” Jonah shared what was obvious. “Not this. Stop terrorizing every assignment we send you on.”

Felicia got in his face, talking down to him, talking like she would perhaps to a child. “Next time, maybe you try thinking with your superior brain, instead of your fucking dick.”

“Aw come on, I didn't even rape this one. I was the only one who got off and it wasn't near her pretty little blouse.”

She turned away and went over to the other side of the room where an assortment of papers lay strewn about. A quick scan on a couple of the sheets littered with charts and columns, and she was shaking her head.

“Useless. We don't need another one like her. Like I said before, it's time we move on to the next step with our current most viable candidate.”

Jonah looked at Miles, but kept his thoughts on Laura. He didn't much relish what came next, but he watched every time anyway. His way of paying the debt back a bit maybe. His way of trying to appease Laura, who didn't like any concept of mortality, no matter who or what it may concern. He could understand that. He didn't ever want to lose her.

The lean man tugged at the collar of his jacket and lowered himself to hover in a crouched position near the pathetically teary case in the cage. As he reached into his coat and withdrew his sidearm, he shook his head and mumbled about how it blew he had to dump her. Laura's typing stilled. Jonah forced himself not to look at her, not to look away from the cage and Miles.

“Man, this blows. Could have had some fun,” he lamented.

Jonah stared at the man. The words that came out of his mouth sometimes were simply astonishing. Damaged property of Umbrella's at its finest. Miles readied the weapon and slid the tip of the gun between metal bars. The whimpering turned into a wheezing gasp of what could only be described as pure terror. The woman was so scared she couldn't even breathe proper.

Perhaps that might have been worth a bit of exploring. Oh well, too late now.

Miles sighed regretfully. “Know I'm losing more out of this than you are, pretty.”

The gun fired, the girl's noises abruptly silenced, and a soft thump sounded as her body hit the cage floor. The chains rattled a little, too, but somehow it was a sound he bypassed in favor of hearing the others. The Wesker children really weren't wired like anything he'd ever read about.

Felicia's pen had never stopped scratching at the surface of the journal in hand since she'd told Miles his collection was a worthless contribution. Jonah decided he best find something for him and the currently grumpy Miles to do for a while, so the ladies could continue working. Beside him, the typing resumed.


	17. Opportunity

He was alone with him, in the room branching off from the basement lab they reserved for P30 experimentation. A small room with a toilet and sink, a desk and chair, and a single cot in the far corner. That sad, sparsely lit room he was forced to call home for a week now. They left him alone with him a lot.

This time he wasn't leering. He wasn't smiling or speaking. There was no habitual knife play or a weapons magazine for his perusal in sight. Chris recognized this kind of quiet coming from the other man. The calm of acceptance when a person decides to give in to desire. When they determine to feed the perpetual aching need they can't get rid of, holding on to the awareness that even though they'll be failing to keep themselves in check, at least the mind will go quiet for a time. A respite from that terrorizing desire, which ordinarily refuses to let them be free, even if only for a very brief time. A brief time when the mind is tricked into feeling fulfilled and satiated, though consciously the person knows that aching need slowly destroying their mind will return the very next day.

Chris was once a smoker in his teenage and Air Force years. He'd seen friends and allies over the years battle the want of drink. He knew addiction when he saw it. And right now, he was staring into the eyes of one afflicted by it. This man's particular urge had been allowed to fester for too long. There would be no true pleasure when he gave in, only a false one.

He weighed his options. A distraction could conceivably keep the man from giving in to the most desperate of his needs, saving Chris from what would probably be a near death and agonizing time. It would have to be a very good distraction.

Krauser took a step in his direction. He stood up from the cot. It would be hours before anyone else came to the lab. They both knew this. They both also knew Wesker would be furious if his test subject was debilitated to the point where the experiments would have to be put on hold. The trouble with that knowledge, one of them didn't care.

He'd taken a lot over the years. Pain, physical and mental. Made sacrifices he wished no one should ever have to make. The last two months had been particularly memorable in suffering and hardship. But he got through it. He was still alive. He could take this, too.

“Jack.”

Krauser paused, seemed to think better of bringing his beloved knife in with him, leaving and returning without it. He didn't bother announcing his intentions. They both knew what he wanted, and Chris was going to give it to him. In this moment, survival was more important than anything he wanted, or in this case, didn't want. When Krauser grabbed his shoulder and shoved him so he fell back to the thin mattress, he let him. When the man put one hand around his throat and the other latched to the rim of his pants, he let him do that too.

The man had the audacity to growl at him. “What are you doing?”

Chris echoed the question word for word. That got him a backhand which wasn't entirely unexpected or undeserved. He smiled, a small little quirk of the lips upward that could maybe be considered a pleasant look. That earned him a punch. A really hard punch to the face. His left cheek stung and he could already feel the rising swell of a bruise.

Without any prevention on his part, it didn't take long before he found himself in a horrible position. He was facedown on his pillow, pants around his ankles and Krauser preparing to intrude in the worst way. He'd been given a white t-shirt and white flannel pants to wear every day. Easy to remove. Chris wondered when it'd become sexual for him. Maybe it started that way and turned even darker and vicious with time.

He turned partially to latch onto one of the man's wrists.

“Careful,” he warned.

 _Wesker will kill you._ He didn't have to say out loud.

Then Krauser was inside him. He released his wrist and the other man used the hand to shove him flatter on the mattress, his shirt riding up when he did. Despite his preparation, it hurt. Despite Chris's warning, he was fucking hard. He worried his allowance of this happening wouldn't be enough to keep Krauser from giving in to what he really wanted.

Each thrust shook the bed. Nails were digging into the flesh of his hip and left shoulder blade. Idiot was leaving marks. If Wesker bothered to come by for a progress check within the next few days, he'd surely notice. The bruise on his face would take at least that long to heal.

A troubling question emerged from these thoughts. Why did he care? Why did it mean something to him if Krauser got himself killed? The man was a monster. Biologically he wasn't a regular human, and he sure as fuck was a monster psychologically. He was a kidnapper and attempted murderer before his second presumed death, and currently a kidnapper, rapist, and torturer. Kijuju had been hell. This laboratory wasn't much better. There was a strong possibility the man was a sociopath.

His head slammed into the metal frame beyond his pillow from a particularly hard thrust. Ow. Bastard. He put his hands on the side railing and held tight. Krauser's response was to grunt and raise Chris's hips up a bit before resuming his practiced rhythm. Oh.

The pain began to ebb away as a pleasant sensation replaced it. Goddamn Krauser. He didn't want to enjoy this. He didn't even want to be a part of this. Choices were limited in captivity. A soft moan escaped his lips. Fuck.

He fought to distance himself from the physical again, bringing his mind back to the previous question. Why did he care what happened to Krauser? How could he? Yeah his life had been saved a few times by him. And he was aware before the first presumed death, Krauser had been a highly respected and highly successful war hero. The man was a soldier who lived to be a soldier doing his best, until he was injured on a mission and subsequently pushed out of service. That couldn't have felt good.

Was he always a sociopath? The start of a life without direction or purpose driving him to embrace that dark part of himself? Did the sudden abandonment of his government do the deed? Spark his sociopathy from there? Hard to say, but it just didn't sit well with him, how a man could go from hero to psychopath.

Okay, so Wesker was the true psychopath here. A definite psycho, who also happened to have saved Chris's life more than once. But it wasn't entirely selfless. And Krauser was right at his heels, willing to do anything for the man's insane plans. He was also far worse at his self control. Given the opportunity with his capture of Chris in Africa, he hadn't hesitated to tear a human being apart. Wesker didn't do that. He might kill without a second thought if there was something to be gained, but the concept of sadism didn't appeal to him.

Well, shit. How did that happen? Now he was defending both his captors. What was he? A victim of Stockholm Syndrome? Not a chance. He could never be disillusioned into mistaking them as anything but bad men. Bad men... Possibly made bad by viruses which were a part of them now. Oh for fuck's sake. There he went again.

He bit down on his lip and punched the metal of the cot's frame to keep from making any sound as Krauser climaxed. When he was done and removed himself from the bed to fix his pants, Chris stood to take care of his own clothing. Standing at the side of his cot, he stared at the other man.

There were things he wanted to ask. Like why he got off on forcing people. Whether it was sex or some other end, the man clearly loved control, demonstrating his power. So when did it start being fun to do harm to others? When did he trade saving for killing, aid for cruelty? What was it like to be infected with a virus? What changes came of it? Did he like being pretty much alone? Was his show of restraint here meaningful or nothing? What did he hope to gain from Chris?

Yes, there were a lot of things he could say. He might even get an answer or two. But those were questions for another time. He had to think about himself right now.

So instead he said this. “Feel better?”

The incredibly painful knee into his stomach never felt so good. While he sank back onto his cot, Krauser looked at him strangely. It lasted only a moment and then the man walked out of the room.

Chris heard the brief scrape of metal sliding against metal, Krauser retrieving his knife. He held his breath, wondering if he'd miscalculated the situation. The sound of the electronic door whooshing open, footsteps fading, and then silence. Krauser had gone. He breathed again. The hounding addiction was mostly avoided for yet another day.

He stood up and pressed a hand into his stomach where he'd been hit. A grimace from the touch. There were a few bruised ribs but nothing worse. Walking uncomfortably over to the mirror above the sink, too aware of another area hurting and in definite need of cleaning, he laughed. The red welt on his cheek was bigger than he'd thought, colorful bruise spreading from the contact point. Where his forehead had hit the bed's frame there was a red line, also likely to bruise and turn a few colors before it healed. What ever would Excella say?

/

Wesker was livid. His partners were making his life difficult. Chris believed he wouldn't risk meeting with either, for he might murder them if he did. And they had their uses. To add to the man's trouble, Wong wasn't helping any by being as predictable, in her unpredictability, as always. She spent most of her time skulking around the upper levels of the building, awaiting further orders. Mr. Flawless didn't suffer failure and they were failing.

For the last two days, Ada returned while Krauser took off, keeping his distance to avoid wrath. Work had ground to a halt in one particular lab when Excella put her foot down. She refused to allow another test until the test subject fully healed. Her awakening to the reality of her present situation and Wesker's true nature was blinding her from what she was becoming: endangered.

Chris couldn't help the grin as he walked slowly down the hall under the escort of four armed guards. He had been summoned to Wesker's room. The plan was going swimmingly, and the beauty of it was that it had fallen into his lap. Man, he loved bad guys.

This was the first he was seeing Wesker in over a week. The first time ever to be brought to the other side of the basement labs where the blonde tyrant spent his days. He knew full well this was not part of the original plan. Anything he could do to knock things off track counted as a win in his book.

As soon as he stepped inside the appointed room, the guards left. The electronic door sliding shut behind him, he took another few steps and stopped. He blinked multiple times to allow his eyes to adjust. The room was significantly darker than the blinding white of the hallways that brought him here. The dim setting of overhead lighting was on, as well as a lamp on a large desk front and center from his position.

A quick scan across the rest of the room told him what he could have figured. There were shelves filled with files and texts, a shut door to an adjacent room, and a large bed against the farthest wall. It didn't look like the bed got much use. The desk was plainly the prime spot of activity.

When he gave no indication he would move farther into the room, Wesker beckoned him closer. A gloveless hand directed him to step by him. He couldn't even be bothered to look up from his work. Chris supposed it was nice to know he did, in fact, take the gloves off sometimes.

He went over, coming to stop just before the edge of the desk. His gaze explored the desktop out of habit. It was usually good to be aware of as much as possible and here would be no exception. _Search. Stabilizing element. Uroboros. Overpopulation. Pollution. Lack of expanding parameters._ These were the ten words his eyes caught among various papers during the brief search of the desk's contents, but only one really clicked home for him.

“Uroboros? I thought you were done with that.”

The sigh of someone's privacy disturbed came before the actual response. “Indeed.”

Wesker turned from his computer, the screen going black as he did. “Progress is built from that which precedes it.”

“How very profound.”

His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he took in the sunglasses had been shed also. Black gloves and sunglasses were like permanent fixtures on the man. For him to be without both was bizarre to witness.

He stood from his chair and Chris noted there didn't appear to be any weapons on his person. It was easy to see, as Wesker came around the side of the desk sans his latest favorite jacket, and there were no gun holsters or knife sheathes. The man was perfectly harmless like this. Yeah, right.

A hand reached forward and took his chin in its grasp. Amber eyes slightly glowing, alighted upon his face. The set of bruises he wore in plain sight of course hadn't gone unnoticed long. But even he was surprised by how angry Excella was, and how stubborn she'd become. Two days into the healing process left the bruises expanded and an ugly mixture of off yellow, green, and black. A thumb brushed across the mark on his cheekbone.

“What did you do?”

“I smiled.” It was the truth.

Wesker hummed with discontent. “If not another action, words came first.”

“What makes you say that?”

His head tilted to the side a little. “I know you.”

Again he told the truth. “I asked him what he was doing.”

Wesker released his face and started to turn away. “I assume the manner of tone and timing was less than ideal.”

“It was plenty ideal for me.” Chris retorted.

The other turned back, looking as though something occurred to him. He shifted in place, waiting for the inevitable follow-up question. He wasn't disappointed.

“Where else?”

“What?”

“Where else did he hurt you?”

Chris's shoulders slumped a bit. “How'd you know?”

“I suspected, because I know Krauser's type. They can't temper themselves.” Red eyes bore into his. “I _knew_ , because your breathing is altered. Fractionally, granted, but I can hear it.”

“Damn.” He was grudgingly impressed. “Those are some stellar ears you've got.”

There was that hum again. Did Wesker somehow know he was avoiding? He couldn't possibly.

“Let me see.”

He played dumb. “See what?”

The critical eyes narrowed in their speculation of him. “Now, Chris.”

He thought about refusing, insist it wasn't anything serious. All the reasons he could come up with would make sense. But just as Wesker knew him and Krauser, he knew the man standing in front of him. He would see any more words for what they were, simply stalling from the request.

Not caring that he looked obviously reluctant, he pulled the thin t-shirt over his head. He held the fabric in his hands, close to himself, in the hopes permission would be granted for him to put it on again soon enough. Those hopes were dashed when Wesker reached and took the shirt from his grasp, discarding the item on top of the desk.

“They're just bruised a little. It's nothing.”

“It's disobedience from an employee.” Wesker corrected, testing the level of damage to Chris's abdomen. “Unacceptable.”

“Thought he was your partner.”

“Yes.”

He said it like an answer, but it didn't really tell him anything. Chris reached for the shirt on the desk and Wesker latched onto his outstretched arm. Before he could ask what he was doing, his arm was twisted so he spun around, back facing Wesker. Great. Now he knew.

Without even seeing them, he knew those eyes were mapping out the incriminating fingernail marks. Briefly the waistband of his pants was pulled lower to seek out further impressions in the skin, and then Wesker withdrew completely. Chris turned and watched as the other man grabbed his phone out of the top desk drawer. He tapped a text message in for someone, then did another to a second contact. The phone went back into the desk when he was done.

“Krauser's going to be reassigned to a new duty for a while. Your testing will resume tomorrow morning.”

“Excella-”

“Has her orders.”

Chris glanced away, staring at nothing in particular so long as it wasn't Wesker. “Right.”

He looked at the man again. “Well, boss, should I type up an incident report or should we sweep this one under the rug?”

Wesker bristled. “You were hiding it.”

“He has a problem.”

“Perhaps.”

“It's the virus. There _is_ some sort of virus in him, isn't there? Your idea of a favor no doubt.”

The older man took a step closer and leaned in. “Modified T-Veronica virus, and a version of plaga which you already know, but let's keep that knowledge between us.”

“How about we talk about something that's not between us. Like your own virus.”

“Hm...”

“The others like you out there are proof everything you are isn't entirely you.”

“Explain.”

“Your obvious violent natures, inability to keep emotions in check once they're let out, and that all-consuming need for resolution and purpose at all times. It's inevitable for you to act this way if you give in to it.”

Wesker was looking bored now. “These are not facts, merely opinion.”

He had to laugh. “Fact.”

The topic reverted back to the man of the hour. “You defend him. Why?”

The answer came easy. Out of his mouth, well-formulated and confident, without his thinking it through before speaking. He was realizing what he thought as he put that thinking into words.

“Because I understand what it feels like to not be in control. I know what it looks like now, without a shadow of a doubt.”

When nothing was said in return, he knew he had something. He couldn't let this moment pass him by. He could do this.

His hand fingered the waistband of his thin bottoms and his eyes stared right into Wesker's own. “Wanna fuck?”

He didn't show any surprise at the proposition. The painfully self-regulated man never would so easily. Instead he did what Chris knew he would. He tried to read him and tell him how it was. God-complex at its best.

“Sex with me will not erase the rape. You've been here before. You've come to me in your brokenness and desperation. Weakness appalls me.”

“For the record, you requested my presence here. And if I were weak, I wouldn't be alive today. I sure as hell wouldn't come to _you_ for a good cry or a pity fuck.” He grabbed his shirt from the desk and put it on. “You're a freak. Umbrella leftovers. Of course you wouldn't want something that could make you feel human.”

“Anger over shy embarrassment, how like you.”

He only glared. This was not fun for him. Being a captive was never going to be the highlight of his life. What did Wesker want from him?

“Honesty.”

“What?”

Okay that was eerie. A bit like his mind had just been read.

“You have a plan,” he went on.

“What?” Chris choked out, like he was echoing his previous 'what'.

“Whether it works is irrelevant. You have one.”

Those eyes were officially unnerving him. “Yes.”

Wesker smiled. Not a smirk or a grin or anything promising bad things. It was merely a genuine, nice smile.

“There's reason I like you, Chris.”

“You hate me,” he pointed out.

“Only when you are actually effective at affecting my plans.”

“Mocking me, how unsurprising,” he said, in a manner identical to how Wesker described his anger over being analyzed earlier.

The smile deepened. “For being so ordinary you are quite extraordinary.”

What was Wesker up to? “Okay...”

“Uncompromising.”

Momentary silence followed as Chris grew uneasy in his suspicion, then Wesker shared, “I look forward to having you on my side.”

Ah, there it was. He gritted his teeth. “Not going to happen.”

“The P30 trials are nearing successful completion.”

“And?”

“What was it you said before while reasoning my behavior and choices.. Ah, inevitable. Inevitability. Yes, I do believe that applies here.”

God, Wesker could be insufferably annoying. A complete bastard and control freak. “Fuck you.”

“No, but I will fuck you.” Wesker volunteered as he turned around and started walking to the large bed at the back.

Chris watched him undress and decidedly hated the Greek statuesque form the man had. Perfect chiseled features and sculpted muscle. How could anyone look _that_ good?

He'd never felt a desire to sleep with men before. He still didn't. The rapes had driven him further from ever getting too close to another person intimately again, male or female. He'd known this was a result of his torture almost immediately after experiencing a taste of the outside world, away from tight spaces and closed off rooms. But Wesker seemed to always be the exception. It made zero sense. They were enemies.

He peeled off his shirt and tossed it onto the desk. As he headed toward the bed, he let deeper thoughts fall away. Though sex had now become known to him as the potential to be a certain evil, this wasn't that. He wanted Wesker to fuck him. That in itself told him just how fucked he was.


	18. Dying to Fight

_Dialing. Ringing. Click._

_[“Report.”]_

“I've got something special for you.”

_[“How many did you witness?”]_

“Three. One engaged two in combat before they went separate ways.”

_[“Go on.”]_

“One of the parties was running experiments in an abandoned estate. The one who fought on his own I suspect. He had human allies present.”

_[“How can you be sure?”]_

“Because he was also the one with an exit ready.”

_[“Another plane. Like Africa.”]_

“Yes sir, I do believe he's the one we lost in Africa. Number two.”

_[“And he's escaped our grasp once again.”]_

“He'll be collected in good time.”

_[“Forget him for now. Track the others.”]_

“There's something even better, sir.”

_[Pause. “Oh?”]_

“I did manage to pick up a trail on the other two.”

_[“You have a location.”]_

“Yes, and where they went...”

_[“Yes?”]_

“Sir, there were two more.”

_[“If we do this perfectly...”]_

“We could get five.”

_[“Continue surveillance. They will inevitably converge again.”]_

“I understand, sir. End report.”

_[Click.]_

Now, to the task he'd appointed himself. Another group had piqued Kincaid's interest. The PTSD woman, the desperate woman, and the other two who were varying degrees of anger, determination, and duty. The latter two a man and woman, the professionals of the bunch as he saw it. The other women were far too emotional. No sense of duty was driving them to push onward even in their cluelessness. He was watching this assembled team.

A kind of mission had taken them to the wreckage of the demolished estate after a brief exploration through town. That they found this building so quickly spoke of some skill in finding the unusual. But the burned remains gave them a dead end. By their reactions, this was not the first time they'd found themselves lost for direction.

As he pondered how long they'd kick around charred blocks and stare helplessly at their failed progression in the form of a ruined building, one of them got smart. The young woman, one of the considered professionals, noticed the disturbed grass and dirt, noticing how grooves had intentionally been dug into the dirt. A makeshift road, a potential runway, she deduced for them. The desperate one clung to this, turning to the professional man for hope.

He watched him move away from the others with the PTSD woman. The man made a call that was out of earshot for him, but already Kincaid was observing something unnoticed by them. It really shouldn't have gone unnoticed. They would pay for it.

Number ten was moving silently around a portion of one of the still standing walls of the estate's east end. The professional woman spotted her three seconds before the desperate one did. She went for her gun too late, unable to identify the threat until it became threatening. So she lacked experience with Wesker children and identifying their kind. For hunting one, that seemed curious. Unless it wasn't number ten they were searching implicitly to find.

The fight ended far too abruptly. The professional knocked out in one blow and the desperate female scrambling to break free of the arm pressed into her windpipe. Lacking access to air, she choked, but number ten made sure she did it quietly by keeping a hand over her mouth for insurance. Unbelievably, she dragged the struggling woman out of sight without further incident, back the way she'd come. How tragic.

Kincaid wasn't sure what it was, but something finally made one of them notice. The PTSD one jerked her head in the direction of the disturbance, immediately spotting her fallen companion. She tugged on the male's shoulder and together they ran over to provide aid. Far too late for effectiveness.

“Claire! Where's Claire?” PTSD demanded of the shaken awake and disoriented professional.

So Desperate had a name. Claire. He observed with much amusement as a white jeep started up from somewhere beyond the charred estate and sped right past the clueless three. The trio aimed firearms simultaneously to hit tires but every shot missed its mark. Emotion likely the culprit for their clouded judgment and inability to act.

“I got the license plate!” the male professional exclaimed.

 _I already know where they're taking her,_ he thought to himself. He was deeply curious to know why she'd been taken. This was no random snatch and grab to yield a new subject for experimentation. These people were connected to his prey in some way. Hm... He'd just thought of a use for them.

/

Two entire days of altered P30 injections left him a very unhappy man. Wesker had chosen to personally oversee the trials in Krauser's absence. This meant Chris got to witness Excella waiting on the man constantly, yet watch her pretend it wasn't what she was doing because of her pride. She was less dumb than when he first met her, but that clearly didn't translate into gaining smarts. Her only saving grace was that she knew enough to pretend she didn't normally spend a large portion of her time chatting up the captive, the guinea pig. She kept her distance from him while Wesker's presence was so known, and that kept her position secure.

Sitting in a chair while Doctor Jenner reviewed the day's results, he looked over at Excella chatting with the actual person in charge near the exit. Wesker retained his expressionless mask all the while and he had to feel a little pity for her. She wasn't a terrible person, just selfish and greedy enough to gain at the expense of others without much thought.

The burning sensation was rising in his head again. Oh, great, another headache to leave him on the floor when it worsened. Wonderful. This was total bullshit. Why did he have to endure this crap? He kicked the chair next to him across the room.

He blinked. No, wait, the chair was still there in its same position. He'd imagined doing the action apparently. A wave of nausea swept through him. That was new. Gratefully the burning in his head dulled, but he was feeling a little dizzy and strange. It felt somewhat like he wasn't entirely in his own body.

“Excella!” he called out, aware he'd let some of his discomfort leak into his voice.

She appeared by his side. “Are you going to be sick? You look a little pale. Let's get you to the table.”

He let her lead him toward the table. She could be nice, caring, and yet could also be a total bitch. She could help him, take him from this bad place. She didn't. She was helping them take away more and more of the freedom that remained for him.

His mind fluttered with violent images. He imagined punching her in the face. To do it for him, for every last soul in Kijuju who became victims of her lust for more power. He imagined taking firm hold of her throat and squeezing the breath out of her. Take her life for every life she'd taken.

“Chris.”

His eyelids fluttered. That damn burning sensation was back. His head felt ablaze with pain.

“Chris. Stop.”

There was an overwhelming need to obey the voice. He felt great affection for that voice and wanted to please it. But stop what? He wanted to do it for him.

It was when his hand actually released its grip that he realized what was real. The punch had been wishful thinking, nearly throttling Excella to death had not. She dropped to the floor, coughing and sputtering. Every breath now came to her with a wheezing gasp.

He swallowed hard and stared numbly down at her. This wasn't how Jill described it. She'd said she couldn't stop herself but was aware of what she was doing. He, on the other hand, was having a difficult time assessing the real from the imagined. And he hadn't tried to stop himself either. He'd wanted to obey, needed to come through for him.

When he finally forced himself to look over at Wesker, the urge to go stand by his side nearly brought him to his knees. Tears streaked out of his eyes, moistening his cheeks, but he stayed where he was. He understood, without a doubt, Wesker ordered his near murder of Excella. A murder he would have committed if the man hadn't reversed the command.

Wesker was playing a dangerous game and it could lead to one or both of them dying. There wasn't a whole lot of time left to fight. If he didn't get out of this place very soon, they'd have time to create a stronger and longer lasting dose to keep him under, influenced. He was terrified.

A wave of desire to go to Wesker's side swept through him again. His head began to burn like before. A side effect of disobedience possibly. He welcomed the now familiar pain even as he struggled to think through it. Just one thing he had to manage before it was okay. It took every ounce of willpower he had to grind out his own words.

“No, Wesker. Not in the plan.”

All right. Now it was okay. He fell to his knees and barely a second after doing so, blacked out.


	19. Fighting to Die

Wisconsin. Wisconsin was where his shadowy target disappeared to recently. A mansion among a mass of trees he was calling home at present. The place was functioning like any public work space, with employees coming and going. He wondered if they ever received visitors and got his answer firsthand.

They let him stroll right on by the reception area to a set of elevators after delivering a simple lie. He and Kincaid were brought up to the third floor by a young, cheerful guide. She made small talk with them as the elevator ascended and although Kincaid remained silent throughout, Lex was pleased to make false social chatter. Humans were terribly amusing. Such strange creatures. So fascinating. He didn't know how he ever thought he was like the masses.

“Rather cold today,” he was commenting to the woman as they arrived on their floor. “At least it isn't raining.”

“Hey, stop!” a voice commanded as soon as they stepped off the elevator. “This floor is restricted today.”

A guard suited in a bulletproof vest, full gear, a black cap, and an earpiece stood at the other end of the hall. He looked perturbed to find unwanted people in the area. That was a lot of weaponry for a mere office building.

“These gentlemen have an appointment with Ms. Gionne in five minutes,” the secretary explained. “We're using conference room C; it's reserved.”

It hadn't taken much for Kincaid to falsify an appointment labeling the meeting as two interested investors potentially in the Tricell corporation. His associate already appeared the part in his neat suit, and he simply zipped up the expensive leather jacket he always wore to conceal the plain tank top beneath. The sunglasses and baseball cap remained worn out of necessity. It wasn't too peculiar. Plenty of wealthy people wore what they wanted out of perceived entitlement.

“I don't care what you say you have. Ms. Gionne herself placed this floor on restriction for the day.”

“That doesn't make any sense. Who is on this floor to place restriction-?”

“Lady, get your goddamn guests, and get back in the elevator. Now!”

Kincaid grabbed the woman and covered her mouth before the scream could sound when Mason went ahead and darted forward, shoving a hand through the guard's chest. The man had time to only reach for his weapon, nothing more. He sighed, shaking his head. Such a nuisance. His eyes tracked a storage closet just beyond where he stood. How convenient.

After disposing of the body in the small square space, he came walking out, wiping his blood-coated hand and sleeve with a wet towel. The woman visibly trembled, shaking in fear within Kincaid's hold. A man came into view at the opposite end of the hall, behind the pair standing by the elevator. He stopped as soon as he saw the terrified secretary and the one keeping a hand over her mouth turned to look at him. Maybe not so convenient.

Mason examined this newcomer. Not another guard. He was clothed in white pants and a shirt, like hospital scrubs one might see on a doctor or nurse. His seasoned eyes told another story as they searched the three of them and what might possibly be transpiring.

He continued to calmly wipe the blood until the darkening of his black jacket remained the sole trace of his encounter with the guard. When he didn't respond to the man's arrival and instead kept staring at him, Kincaid took it upon himself to handle the situation.

“You. Come here.”

The man knew it was a bad idea. He grimaced and tried to catch the eye of the trapped woman.

“Let her go.”

“If you come, I will let her go,” promised Kincaid.

Now he was weighing his options. He glanced behind himself but didn't seem to be finding anything useful. Giving another look toward Lex and the towel in his hand, which he chose to toss aside at that moment, he nodded slowly.

“Okay... Keep your hands where I can see them. The both of you.”

Hm... Had the sound of law enforcement. Mason put his hands up innocently in the air. Cautiously, the man began to step closer. He was barefoot. Hard earned muscle showed in the parts of his arms that were not covered by sleeves. Recently shaven, appearing healthy. Had they potentially stumbled upon a conditional prisoner?

Predictably, his man snapped his hostage's neck as soon as the other was a few feet from him. What he hadn't predicted was the other being prepared for the possibility of it happening. When Kincaid killed her, the man lunged forward, barreling into him and the dead secretary bodily. Impeded by the corpse on top of him and now this man's additional weight, he took several punches to the face.

Somewhat impressed, he started to walk toward the spot. Lex went slow, curious to see what would unfold. He had complete faith in his friend's handle on the situation, but wanted to use the opportunity to see what this man's capabilities might be.

Using what hindered him to his advantage, Kincaid shifted the body so the next blow would strike her unless he changed course. The man did, hesitating when he saw who he almost hit, and received a powerful punch to his jaw for it. This allowed him to shove his assailant off with the corpse and he swung a foot into the other, connecting with the side.

It flipped him from the momentum behind the kick, and Kincaid continued utilizing said momentum to swing himself up onto his feet. The man was quickly moving back in for another attack and they parried blows from one another, neither landing a hit. Mason decided it was informative enough.

He came to a halt just behind his partner. “Kincaid.”

His man abruptly ceased the fight by lowering his arms and stepping sideways. The other man faltered for a moment when his target was no longer in front of him but found balance immediately. He glanced between the two of them on high guard, uncertain, alert to the danger they presented.

“So it's clear, I didn't actually lie.” Kincaid informed the man. “I did let her go, from this world.”

A fierce glare replaced the careful, cautious look. “You didn't have to kill her.”

“I didn't have to kill the guard stuffed in the closet over there either.” Mason told him. “It's just quicker, and,” leaning forward a little with his head bowing, he whispered loudly. “Between you and me, I kind of like it.”

The doggedly angry glare switched to him. He observed his attention linger on the cap pulled low on his face and the sunglasses worn. The anger lessened and he took a step back. Kincaid matched his step, moving closer.

Unease showed on him. A smile appeared on Lex's face. “I do believe you have encountered my kind before.”

“Do you know where you are?”

He canted his head briefly in considered agreement. “Good point. Let's have a conversation somewhere less open. Conference room C, right over there.”

The man glanced to the labels next to the doors. Kincaid responded to his suspicious puzzlement.

“We reserved it.”

Instead of going to the room, he was peering over his shoulder again. He really expected someone to be showing up it would seem. The man would have to accept he was out of luck for now.

Mason removed his sunglasses and put them inside his jacket. “I really must insist.”

His associate placed his hand firmly on the man's shoulder and he could see everything was telling him to lash out and fight. But he obeyed and went with Kincaid a short way down the hall until they came to the conference room. Lex followed them inside and shut the door, twisting the steel handle into a warped shape that barred access by any conventional means.

Taking a seat at the head of the conference table, Kincaid put the man in white scrubs in the chair next to him, then stepped away to hover behind. Mason noted he kept one arm rigidly straight and knew there was a knife ready to slip out of the sleeve and into his hand at a moment's notice. Satisfied with the condition of this arrangement, he focused on the uncomfortable man at his right.

“What's your name?”

He didn't say anything, only stared back at him, eyes glimmering with anger. An expected response. He clearly didn't like being forced to do anything, even something as harmless as having a little chat.

“My name is Lex Mason. That's Kincaid. And you are?”

Hesitation, but his eyes lightened. He was no less suspicious and careful, however, he was more calm than before. Risking settling in the seat a bit, he gave an answer.

“Chris.”

Seemed to be the truth. “Chris. I presume you have a last name.”

“You would presume right.”

The corner of his mouth upturned slightly. “You recognized the danger presented by someone with eyes like mine. You know what I am. I believe someone like me is in this very building.”

Chris twitched, giving away the accuracy of his suppositions. He saw this as encouragement to go on.

“It's number two, isn't it?”

The man understood. Who was he in the grand scheme of all this? Why was he being held here? A prisoner. Maybe an experiment. But he'd been given some freedom, which was unusual. He craved to know more about this curiosity.

“Albert is here, running his precious experiments. Why are you here?”

He shook his head. “So you're Alex. You disappeared. Guess you're a lot like Wesker in that. No interest in an old man's fantasies either.”

Intrigued, he leaned closer, placing his hands on the table. “Who are you to this Wesker?”

“Why are you here?”

A flicker of impatience showed on his face and he took a moment to conceal it. His own question being used on him instead of giving an answer wasn't what he wanted. This was a stubborn human, all right. But humans became emotional quite easily.

“I can tell you were law enforcement of some kind. What were you?”

“Still am,” he answered begrudgingly. “Still working. Even if it's less than ideal circumstance. Never usually is very pretty in this job.”

Lex let a small smile slip onto his face. “So you're used to working with biological threats. And with such knowledge of Wesker children, that narrows your organization down considerably.”

“Why don't you tell me what you're after?”

The smile slid off. “Got better things to do in your imprisonment?”

Chris threw his hands up briefly in irritation. “I just don't feel like being interrogated, okay? No way you're up to anything good. None of you psychos ever are.”

“You've encountered other Wesker children. Is that right?”

He met Kincaid's eyes before returning to the man currently glaring at him. “Tell me, how long have you known number two? Rather, Albert Wesker. How much time has he kept you prisoner?”

The emotions positively radiating off of the man right now, spoke volumes. He did not like this number two. There was history there. He was certain the Wesker child had wronged him to the extreme, and he was far from forgiving for it.

“Wesker's insane. You are too. Psychopathic killers hell-bent on changing the world and playing god among humanity.”

“What could his reasons be for that? I wonder...”

The other had the decency to look confused, unsure of what he meant. Insanity, psychopathy, and a perpetual desire to fix the world were all firmly engrained in the project survivors. This was old news as he understood first-hand what a powerful virus circulating throughout one's system did to the fragile human psyche.

No... What he wondered was how he could use this man sitting there to further his own agenda. The other Wesker might put in an appearance, and he considered how the meeting might go. Violence was highly probable. Could he be reasoned with?

It wasn't yet time to play his hand. Doing so would give away his intention. Draw them in, trap them close, and take them out. Soon. For now he would let these sides already in conflict rip each other apart. Quite amusing...

“Were those your hunters in Kijuju?”

Africa, hm?

“Correct,” he replied.

“Were you trying to kill Wesker?”

“Possibly.”

The other man looked disgruntled by his brief, vague answers. He was definitely a law man. Not worth much more of his time.

“I'm tempted to kill you to upset their plans,” he informed, awaiting his reaction.

This didn't phase him much. He must have faced near death often in the past. His hands squeezed temporarily into fists before flattening out again.

“That would really only upset me.”

“And your sister,” added Kincaid.

Chris stiffened in the chair. So something could be gleaned about this oddity. He raised his eyes to his man, encouragement to continue.

“His surname is Redfield. Special agent for the BSAA listed as MIA since a mission in Africa, presumed dead.”

Mason tutted. “You were on that airplane in Kijuju, and I suspect you were on that other plane with number two as well. Did you destroy that mansion? I bet he was rather upset about that.”

“Hardly.” Chris responded quickly. “Wesker's an ego-maniac who bends every circumstance into his own favor wherever. Go ahead and tell me you aren't doing the exact same thing right now.”

“Oh?”

The man didn't see it until he was already being strangled and lifted into the air. Lex slammed him down onto the tabletop, pressing into his throat with careful force. Chris squirmed, fighting to get hands off him.

“Are you trying to die?” he asked rhetorically.

It didn't take long for him to quiet and go limp.

He released him just before he could pass out. Gasps for air came almost softly, too weak for the heavy and loud gasping to better draw in oxygen. Lex placed his hand back onto his neck without squeezing, just teasing the possibility.

“What else have we learned about Agent Redfield, Kincaid?”

The man smiled. “He has a sister. Saw her myself. Saw her get snatched.”

“What?” Chris barely gasped out, and tried again. “What did you say?”

Mason removed his hand when the other tried to turn over and let him so he could see Kincaid. When he tried to rise, he shoved him down flat on the table. Too invested in getting the information over his own current position, he lied there and did his best to look at him.

“Is Claire okay?”

He continued to fiddle with his phone and his smile grew larger. “You're connected to the rest too. Former partner, Jill Valentine, known intelligence associate, Leon Kennedy, and last known partner, Sheva Alomar.”

His fingers idly began tracing and tapping along the prone man's backside. “Aw.. Your friends must be searching for you. How nice. How dangerous.”

“Shut up!” Chris yelled, having regained his voice. “What about my sister?!”

Kincaid tilted his head a bit, examining the man on the table's face as he realized out loud.

“They want _you_.”

Mason glanced between the pair of them. Unexpected. And interesting.

“All the pieces circling around have been following _you_. I thought maybe number two, but no, it's you they're after.”

“Why is that, Chris Redfield?”

“Cause they're crazy,” he told, like it should be obvious there was no other answer.

He smirked a little. “Well that isn't entirely convincing, nor helpful.”

“Go to Hell.”

This would be a fun one to take apart. He released him, allowing him to sit up, and stepped back to give him space. Chris stared at him funny.

“Something wrong?”

“Connected to Albert Wesker far longer than we thought.” Kincaid interrupted before he could get a response for his query. “Knew him from back in the mid-90s. Wesker was his captain of a special forces team based out of Raccoon City. Redfield survived the infamous 'Mansion Incident', where at first everyone thought they were liars making up their stories of monsters and evil.”

“The city overrun and bombed? So you know all kinds of things about Umbrella.”

The man glowered at him from a seat on a table, which truly had him lack in intimidating even a fraction. Still, he was currently weighing the risks of making a move. Lex set his eyes on Kincaid's hip and when he felt the eyes on him, he shifted his suit for the firearms to be glimpsed briefly.

Their captive audience, pun intended, took notice and slouched. He didn't have the need to hype himself up while at such a disadvantage. Since he couldn't be violent, he unwisely deemed it best to talk.

“What do you know about my sister?” he demanded of Kincaid, then looked to him. “I know what kind of man you are. Barely a man. I know what you can do, what you're willing to do to get what you want. And I'm not going to tell you a damn thing so just-”

He stopped when Lex put his hand up. “You're mistaking me for someone else, Agent Redfield.”

The other immediately appeared to have something to say about that but then the door busted in, spraying wooden shards haphazardly. Someone who could only be number two walked into the room, stone-faced and wearing dark shades indoors. He was expecting a fight.

“Ah, finally,” he boomed loudly in greeting. “We can get started. We were waiting for you, Mr. Wesker. If you would please take a seat. The meeting will begin.”


	20. Time to Play a Game!

When the distraction presented, Chris rolled off the table to the opposite side. His intent was to run out the door. He was fairly certain Wesker would let him with a bigger concern at the forefront. But he didn't count on Kincaid stopping him. Guy was fast too.

The man dove over the table, timing it perfectly to land against him as he was getting to his feet. This propelled them into the wall. He swung an arm to elbow his assailant in the face but it was avoided and he felt a knife press to his throat.

“Please have a seat, Agent Redfield.”

The knife was drawn away and the man stepped back. Chris eyed him and then glanced in Wesker's direction. He was staring at him, eyes glowing through the shades. When Wesker turned away to examine Alex instead, he reluctantly followed Kincaid to the table. They both took seats beside each other, and he noticed this time the knife stayed out in his hands.

Alex walked around to the front of the table and bent slightly to pull out a projector stored just under it. Placing it on the table, he turned it on and went over to the wall to tug the chord. The screen rolled down and Wesker was drawing near the table, pausing behind Chris's chair.

“Why come here?”

“I wished to speak with you.”

“I do believe you're lying.”

The other unzipped his jacket and reached into an inner pocket. “Nonetheless, I wish to speak with you now.”

He removed a flash drive and inserted the device into the projector. While he was waiting for the file to be read and opened, he took the moments to study his enemy. Who he assumed was his enemy. The last thing Chris needed was for these two to become allies. The world would well and truly be screwed if that team-up happened. He strongly suspected neither one of these project survivors would have an interest in uniting. They were far too selfishly devoted to their own warped views of mankind for that to ever happen.

A page appeared on the wall sized screen, headshot photographs in rows of the Wesker children project survivors. Wesker was the sole person in the pictures wearing his sunglasses. He sure did love them, even before the change to his body chemistry made them useful for disguise. Big Xs crossed out some of the photos, and some were a darkened hue.

“Thirteen survived the highly experimental injection. Spencer concealed the truth of the results. Everywhere he kept a record, he claimed only two lived on from there. But in reality, three died of sickness, bodies rejecting the selective mutation, while ten lived on.”

Chris leaned forward, interested despite himself.

“The dark images are the three who did not survive the final stage of the project. Numbers three, nine, and thirteen died years ago in the 90s.”

“And the ones crossed out?”

Alex raised an eyebrow and shifted his attention to him. “What do you think, boy?”

He choked on his curse in his surprise at such an insulting label. “Boy?! I'm thirty-five goddammit!”

“What do you think, thirty-five..Chris Redfield?”

Great. The guy was mocking him. It had to be written in the code that these guys were all dicks. Spencer was one, so maybe they got it from the paranoid prick somehow.

He cleared the disgruntled look from his face and ignored how much he wanted to punch something right then. Instead he peered at the images. So Derek, Ken, and William were dead and gone. This one seemed pretty certain about that.

Alex and Albert were standing in this very room, and the four psychos bizarrely fascinated with him were out there somewhere, doing nothing good. Wait.. Could they have been the ones to kidnap Claire?

It took everything to swallow down the urge to demand once again just where she was. They hadn't told before, they wouldn't tell him now. Might not even know where she was, and he really worried about her. Let her be okay...

“Chris? Still with us?”

Right... Five, seven, and eleven had been crossed out. Number six was left alone, like the four after him, like Alex and Albert's photos. Three of them... And Alex appeared smug.

“You killed them,” he supposed.

The smug look increased. “I took them out, yes. I'll take the rest too.”

It was Wesker's turn to appear smug, amusement playing across his features. “Really now? What is it you hope to accomplish?”

Chris was sensing Alex was fronting a bit, pretending to be all-knowing and prepared for everything that could possibly come his way. He'd seen Wesker act the same way. It was all cover for their own insecurities. They doubted, and felt emotion like any human. They were just better than most at deciding to run with their sickest thoughts and urges. Maybe he could shake things up a little. Worth trying.

“I didn't know any of this until recently. Wesker just knew about one other survivor too. Seems unlikely that he'd find himself so out of the loop, and you would find yourself so in.”

A slight frown creased his face as lips tilted downward. “How do you mean?”

“I think you didn't even know all of this until recently either. Spencer kept you in the dark, like you did to him. Means you're pretending to be in control and aware of everybody's movements, but you aren't. Do you even know what you really want? Are you just blindly going about laying plans you haven't even fully realized? Sounds stupid to me.”

The eyes were glowing presently, zeroed in on him. What exactly was his own plan again? Get him off balance..and then?

A hand fell on his shoulder. Wesker silently signaling for him to shut his mouth. Probably wise. Which is why he didn't listen.

“You planning to rule the world? Something completely unoriginal like that?” he prodded. “Get all your ideas from comic books lately?”

Alex stilled for a moment before glancing at the faces of Wesker children on the screen.

“It won't be long now. They'll get what they want. Think you can survive it? Think _she_ will?”

He slammed his hand on the table, standing despite Kincaid's knife. Wesker's hand fell from his shoulder as he did. Fed up, he glared furiously at the other man.

“What do you think you know?” he demanded. “What?”

Kincaid threw his knife at Wesker's face and the man caught it with two fingers. Looking at it, he eyed the thrower. Alex ignored his guns and sprang forward. He missed hitting the blonde man when he was suddenly no longer there, and Chris backed away to stand against the wall by the door. This would get messy.

Wesker backflipped away and had no qualms about using his own weapon. He drew his handgun and fired two shots before Alex was upon him. The latter went for his throat but the attempt was deflected and blows were exchanged.

The varnished wooden table split down the middle when Alex was thrown upon it. He drew himself up from the halves and smiled at the man opposite him. The inhuman being darted forward and twisted his body into a full body strike, feet first. Wesker took the blow and dented into the plaster.

He emerged quickly to resume the brawl. Egos. Chris slipped closer to the door, monitoring the fight intently. His chance to slip away was here. He just..wait- Where was-?

As he stepped outside the room, Kincaid was waiting for him. He had a gun out this time and a fake smile in greeting. Waving the weapon in the direction of the elevator down the hall, he shared what was on his mind.

“While higher minds relieve their stresses, let's go take a walk.”

He stared at the other silently, not moving a muscle except to flicker his eyes toward the doorway he'd exited.

“How about a tour of the lab?”

“Why?”

“I know where to aim so that you bleed, but you don't die..quickly.”

Kincaid put himself behind Chris and he reluctantly walked to the elevator. They descended to the basement, neither speaking a word or making a sound. The other had security cards he shouldn't have, taken from the dead security guard no doubt. He was shoved out once the doors opened. The reluctance to play tour guide was all over his face and body language.

He wanted to run from this place, not walk straight back into it.

When they reached the basement level where Wesker conducted his experiments, he sent him on ahead. Chris refrained from rolling his eyes at this interminable hostage situation he had going of late. Only when the elevator doors clicked shut, did Kincaid move past to scan a row of empty tubes big enough to fit a man or monster. He knew the elevator blocked access without a key card, so unless he got hold of it from the other man, he wasn't going anywhere toward freedom.

The partner of Alex's glanced at him. “What are these for?”

He shrugged. He honestly didn't know, and even if he did, he wouldn't care. It didn't do him any good to know it, so why bother?

Chris received a contemplative look for his unhelpful response. Walking past the tubes, the man now examined the chair he was strapped in for the experimental injections. Gaze passing over it to a row of powered off computers, he then lifted his attention above to the lighting. What was he doing?

“You.”

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“What did he do to you?” Kincaid specified.

The question made him uncomfortable and something not on his mind to be sharing with anyone. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Lie. It's you who is the experiment. You seem rather normal to me. Appearances can be deceiving, but is it in this case?”

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Ashamed? Is your humanity so important?”

“Of course humanity is import-”

He was interrupted. “You're missing the point.”

Chris determined to try to change the direction of their conversation. “How can you work for someone like that? What kind of man are you to do that?”

It was a little disturbing when Kincaid looked almost happy to answer him, if “happy” could be a term used to apply to any expression put on his face. At most the guy seemed to give a small smile or a slight frown, and the rest of the time he was giving everybody nothing genuine. He wouldn't be surprised if he had some shady special ops background in his past.

“I used to kill people for a living,” he shared. “Now I kill people _and_ will soon change the world.”

A glare settled on his face. “All you people ever do is make the world worse. Why can't you all just leave it alone? You're insane.”

“Everyone is slowly losing their minds. Some just take longer than others before they realize everything they are or do is utterly meaningless,” asserted Kincaid. “That's why you should simply do whatever makes you happy in this world, no matter how brief it might last. There is no point to anything, no long game, no inevitable consequence.”

“Sounds to me like you're projecting your own personal issues onto the world. That's what you crazies do to justify murder and anarchy.”

“Does calling us crazy make you feel better?”

“Yes,” he replied immediately, wandering a bit closer to the other man, hoping he could find a spot and moment to get the jump on him.

“Life is one giant chess game. Everyone endlessly making choices and moves. But nobody really wins when it's done.” Kincaid explained with derision. “All the efforts and plans and strategies amount to nothing because every effort has been contained to prevent a true victory. Pieces can only take certain paths, at certain times. You are given the illusion of choice, but you don't have it.”

“What?”

“We seek to remedy that situation. We're going to change the world, and finally, everyone will truly have free will.”

Chris spat out a laugh. “You're telling me nothing new. That's pretty much what Wesker wants too. Make everything better. Maybe there just has to come a time when you all realize you suck at it.”

“So you like games?”

Him and Kincaid spun to the elevator simultaneously, then diverted their attention to the right of it. There was a man standing behind a long counter, wearing a black tank top and pants. His arms were bandaged from the fingertips to the elbows. He wore a belt with gun holsters and ammo packs, a knife, and there was a sheathed sword slung across his body by a strap.

They hadn't heard the elevator make any noise, which meant he was already in the labs when they arrived. He kept his head bowed and his hands twitched readily by his waist. Another visitor. Excella's building sure was popular today. Or maybe these people were always revolving around the radius of Albert Wesker, resident world terrorist consistently labeled dead when he was not. Maybe the time had come for the hammer to fall and shit to blow. Spencer set ten potential time bombs long ago when he messed with science far beyond his understanding.

He stood quietly another moment and then hopped up to stand on top of the counter. Heavy boots with knives strapped to them showed. Straight black hair fell over his eyes, head tilted downward to keep it that way, and his lips curled into a tight smile of greeting.

“Konnichiwa. Hajimemashite. Hiro to yonde kudasai. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

The guy bowed deeply. Okay, so he only understood about two words in that. And he knew it was Japanese. After staring at Alex's chart of Wesker children minutes earlier, he already was acknowledging who had also managed to find their way into this laboratory. Secure facility.. Yeah right.

“Did you say Hiro?” he asked to confirm.

The smile widened just a smidgen. “You know me.”

Hiro shook his head back and sideways to get the hair out of eyes more. Yep, he had the freaky red-yellow eyes with the black, cat-like pupils. A Wesker child.

“When I found what was true on the computer, and saw someone took it, I left.”

Chris stared at him in confusion but a glance at Kincaid informed him he knew what was meant.

“You're skilled at staying hidden, number six. We looked for years before considering the possibility of your demise somewhere forgotten.”

“Spencer lied about a lot of things. Said we were all dead, kept his most prized children in the light of day. Ahou. He did not know what he made.”

He had to be here for a Wesker. But which one? Or was he here for both? Either way, he'd be happy to point him in the right direction.

“If you're looking for Albert or Alex, they're upstairs.”

He felt Kincaid looking at him but pretended not to notice. “Feel free to kill them both.”

The smile softened, a more solemn look appearing. “Why are you here? Who are you?”

“I'm nobody.”

He was distracted momentarily by the sound of the elevator being called and Alex drawing his sword from his back. Drawing a small square object out of his pant-leg pocket, he gave them a genuine smile with teeth showing. Chris decided to back away from him slowly, knowing this probably wasn't going to be nice.

“Geemu wo shimasu. Time to play a game.”

A thumb pressed down. An explosion rocked the building and chunks of debris flew through the air. He threw himself to the ground and covered his head as yet another explosion chaining from the previous explosion sounded, deafening. His mind raced with possible actions he should take.

When he risked a look up, there was a gaping hole in the building wall, earth spilling in from their underground position. He thought he saw something that couldn't be, so he wiped his eyes and slid onto his knees to get a better view. But it was. There was something moving in the dirt.

“Aw, fuck,” he muttered, feeling naked without a weapon or even shoes.

Something huge burst from the earth, spraying dirt everywhere and further debris when it cracked another part of the wall off. It had a skeletal shape but humanoid he would not use to describe it. Though, he thought, swallowing the sickening urge to vomit down his throat, it probably once was a man. Its head was mutated huge, skin translucent and eerie, almost glowing. Elongated bones were visible through the peculiar skin and there was a possible torso, but beyond that were a stream of tentacles trailing behind it.

Chris scrambled to his feet and kept moving backward until he hit the opposite wall. Kincaid remained standing where he was, dangerously close to the abomination sort of slipping and sliding on the floor. Then arms grew out of its broad, skeletal torso, glowing heart shining through skin, and the hands were clawed. How did it do that?

He shook his head to shake the thought out. Why did he even bother wondering questions like that after every freaky creation he'd witnessed? None of it ever made sense, but these things existed and liked to kill other things. It didn't seem to have eyes, just the hollow cavities of a skeleton eyes shifting about the room searchingly.

“Kaiju.” Hiro announced to them. “I call it Gashadokuro. A great skeleton made of bones of the dead. It likes the taste of blood. It will like you.”

_Ding!_

The elevator doors opened and the monster screamed in its direction, a wailing and terrifying sound. It tore across the room and Chris stood rooted to the spot. A black blur darted out, followed by a second one. One ran past the creature to the other side of the room, while the other went directly for it, attacking.

Wesker was the confrontation, while Alex went to his partner. He was immediately concerned that they came to the lab together after just before trying to tear each others' throats out. They hadn't formed a pact, had they? They wouldn't do that. It failed to wholly convince him.

His concerns were distracted when the giant monster who filled a fourth of the room, threw Wesker away from itself. He was thrown across the room, stopped short when he smashed into one of the empty tubes, breaking it. Glass shattered across the floor and surely into him, incapacitating him for however briefly.

It screamed again, infuriated. He noticed a collar around its throat. Was this somehow being used by Hiro to control it? Or was its purpose merely for tracking?

“Temee!” he heard Hiro shout at the tail end of the creature's wail.

Chris shifted his alert eyes to the three at the opposite end of the room. Hiro propelled himself from the desktop, sailing in a direct path for Alex Wesker. Wait, he used a different surname, didn't he? As soon as he considered it he dropped the thought when he realized the creature's face was turning in his direction.

_Not the time to worry about names!_ He reprimanded himself and focused to get his head in the game. The monster sort of did a mix of dragging and sliding itself across the too little space between them, closing the distance in seconds. He dipped to the left, a hand as big as half of him smashing into the wall, putting a huge dent in it. Caught in the wall, it swept the other clawed hand at him and he somersaulted forward to get out of the way.

He started to run but the attempt lasted far too brief before thick, powerful tentacles wrapped around his leg. As he began to fall, more tentacles wrapped around the rest of his body from the neck down and he found himself stuck and raised off the ground. Chris became attuned to audible breathing as he was drawn to the front of the creature, directly in its face.

Squirming, he struggled to break free and a sharp claw slid along his cheek. Gently. That surprised him and he paused fighting in his confusion. The head tilted, puzzling at him, eye cavities boring into his trapped form. It really seemed to be seeing him...

A soft roar slipped out of its throat as an appendage that looked a whole heck of a lot like a slightly smaller tentacle emerged from its gaping mouth. Unlike the translucent, bluish tail tentacles, this was a deep red color. The mouth pushed closer and the tongue or whatever it was darted into his throat.

Shocked by the sudden attack and pain, he could only stare at the monster as it drained blood from his neck. Hiro had meant it literally liked blood to consume. Oh. His hands failed to gain a solid grip on the slippery appendage and when he tried to kick out, another tentacle wrapped about his ankles.

Right when he was accepting this might be how he died, he was dropped. Hitting the hard ground, he groaned and put a hand against his throat. The flow of blood was surprisingly slow so it must have managed to put a small hole in him to drain blood straight through the appendage. Kind of like a straw. Ew, an unpleasant image.

Then he had the thought to see why he was abandoned. Oh lovely. His hero in shiny black leather. Would it kill him to put on a cotton t-shirt for a day?

Right. Battle. He scrambled out from under the monster in the nick of time. It thrashed wildly when Wesker cut a few fingers off, the man then backflipping away to put distance from the sporadic motions before running back in to continue the offensive.

“Shit!” he cussed when a knife flew past him, narrowly missing his head.

Spinning around, he saw Alex and Hiro each trying to kill the other, brutal punches and kicks being delivered. Kincaid stood just by the hole in the wall with dirt piled in, watching him, obviously waiting for himself to be seen. He shrugged at Chris for the attempt on his life, another knife appearing in his hand, and then rejoined the battle between the two Wesker children.

Chris took a look about the room to see where he might not die. This was absurd how quickly the place was being destroyed. Without his gun or so much as a knife, there wasn't anything he could do to put a stop to anyone. The BSAA agent supposed he could find the knife that almost killed him. He considered this thought. They were all his enemies as far as he was concerned, so why should he care? Why worry about not being able to help? He could run. He could be free.

He glanced at the elevator right behind him, putting his back to the doors. But he would need a key card to access the elevator from the basement. Kincaid would be his best option as the only other human in the room. Still didn't mean it would be very easy, especially in this chaos.

_Ding!_

His was a delayed reaction to the elevator noise since at first he wasn't sure he'd heard it with everything going on. He caught sight of Alex being flung to the ground mere feet from his position, an angry growl coming out of his mouth. The man vanished in the next second, racing into the fray once more. His hand slipping away from the small wound in his neck to hang at his side, he heard and felt the doors sliding open.

Chris was only beginning to turn, uncertain about why the doors were opening out of nowhere, when a firm hand gripped his wrist and pulled him inside the square shaft. The horror was beginning to dawn on him when his eyes met Jonas's glowing red gaze as he was yanked forward again and then shoved into someone else's solid form. An arm wrapped around his upper body, pinning his arms to his sides.

_Please don't be him. Please don't be him._ Jonas reached to press the button closing the doors and the elevator seemed to respond impossibly quick, shutting closed and beginning its ascent. He noted the roof button was glowing and worried what that meant. It honestly concerned him that his hope was to be thrown off a roof rather than there being some transport to steal him away. He was finished with being a prisoner. He refused to play any more of these psychos games. Not that what he wanted mattered.

“Can't believe our luck, eh Jonas?” the voice of the man he'd prayed wasn't there said. “He was practically waiting for us.”

“I suspect he was hoping for a chance to slip away from his keeper,” he correctly surmised.

Miles pressed his face against the back of Chris's hair and then slid it downward until his lips were near enough to lick blood off his throat. He fought to remain unmoving and not give them a reaction. These guys liked the fear and pain from people, especially the one teasing fingers around his waistband from behind.

“Someone made you bleed, Chris,” he murmured into his neck.

“Something, actually,” he pointlessly corrected. Stubborn was simply something he was born to be.

He could feel the smile growing on Miles's face even if he couldn't see it.

“We're going to take real good care of you, hero. Jonas and I, we're going to hurt you a lot and see if it takes.”

“If you know anything about what's already been done to me under torture, you know it won't work,” he tried to deceive.

A soft laugh that betrayed the monster it belonged to. Miles drew back a little, straightening, probably to look at his friend.

“We're very good at what we do, and have the added advantage of piling on to what you've already been forced to endure. Besides, if you do prove strong enough, we'll be proven right and move on to what's next.”

Chris frowned, working hard to keep any traces of fear from leaking out. “What's next?”

Jonas smiled pleasantly at him before providing an answer. “We're step one.”


End file.
